In der Fremde
by lieder
Summary: Hermann Sterlitz, a former soccer player turned MD from Stuttgart, takes a trip to Kenya.  For one lion cub, barely alive after a brutal attack, it's a strangely welcome coincidence.
1. Introduction

In der Fremde

Explicatory notes/CulturePedia:

Don't worry…the chapter titles are German, but the words are English! As I don't speak enough German to write the dialog between the pair of two-legged protagonists, Hermann and Markos (both Germans), what they say to each other is written out in English even though they are speaking German. Occasionally, a German word or phrase pops up, but it's always explained. "_In der Fremde_" means "In the unknown" and is a recurring title in the works of Robert Schumann and Joseph von Eichendorff.

"Lieder" are a type of classical song for voice and piano with origins in Western Europe. They are representative of a style of music popular in romantic-era Germany (mid 19th century) and are sometimes better known to English speakers as "art songs" or "German Lieder". Several of them come up over the course of the following events, but of course it's impossible to show how they are sung in writing alone. I have provided links to recordings of these songs, sung by professional singers at the very end so that you can hear for yourselves what it sounds like. Many chapter titles take their names from songs in Robert Schumann's _Liederkreis von Eichendorff_.

The word "football" is often used to talk about soccer. Outside of the US and Japan, most people know soccer as football (or some anglicized construction of the word "football", such as "_futbol_" in Spain), especially in Germany where _nobody_ uses the word "soccer".

The central plot does not start up at full pace immediately…I'm not going to plunk two seemingly-random guys down in the middle of Africa without saying who they are and how they got there! After all, that wouldn't be very fair to them. As far as where the idea came from, I've seen all kinds of requests for something or other where Kopa doesn't die and someone rescues him before it's too late. I figured that in order for that to happen given the supposed severity of the attack—from what I've read, this was an attempt at a whacking that would have made John Gotti proud —we'd need slightly more modern medicine than what you can find in rural Africa. Enter clueless vacationing MDs Hermann and Markos; luckily for all involved, they both have medical degrees. One of them has also studied music for years. _Un_luckily for them, they also have (between the two of them) irrational fear of pirates, terrible marksmanship, difficulty with English, a drinking problem, and, worst of all, a penchant for taking other peoples' stuff…but nobody's perfect. As far as people kibitzing with critters goes, I figure if the critters can talk between themselves in perfect English in the movies, the disbelief has already been suspended for me.

And to those who are wondering, _yes_, I _do_ know how to capitalize, and thus I've made sure to do so correctly. Nouns are capitalized in German. Here are a few words that come up numerous times:

Commands:

_-Komm mal her_….come here

_-Warten_….wait

_-Entspann dich/beruhige dich…._relax, take it easy, chill out

_-Nicht schiessen…._don't shoot!

_-Aufwachen…._wake up!

_-Hau ab…._go away!

_-Achtung, ziel, feuer_….ready, aim, fire

Other words:

_-Ja…._yes

-_Nein_….no

-_Deutschland_….Germany

-_Wie geht's?_...How are you?

_-Danke vielmals_….many thanks/thanks a lot

_-Herr/Mein Herr…._a title of respect, sort of like the English "Mr."

-_Schnell_…fast, quick

-_Langsam_…slow

_-Meine Damen und Herren_….ladies and gentlemen

_-Achtung, achtung!…._attention, please!

_-Welpe_….cub

_-Eins, Zwei, Drei…_One, two, three

_-Guten Nacht/guten Morgen/guten Abend…._good night/good morning/good evening

_-Schadenfreude…._actually used in English; the technical term for deriving amusement from someone else's misfortune.

-_Prost!_...Cheers!

-_Mein Gott…._my God!

-_Gewehr_…firearm

**EINS **

_**Das Sieb**_

_Stuttgart, Germany_

Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD had always dreamed of two things since his birth: to be a world-famous baritone, or to play professional soccer for his hometown team. Neither of those dreams had come to fruition. At age 18, he broke his right leg while practicing…in one place when he rolled his ankle, and in another immediately after when, having fallen to the ground clutching his foot, a close-following player stepped on his shin. The doctors were able to surgically fix the breaks, not without considerable time and money of course, but the severity of the injuries meant that Hermann would never play soccer again. He would walk with a cane for the rest of his life, his right leg permanently retired from strenuous activity, but still could never fight the urge to join his friends on the field from time to time, standing in goal and fending off wayward shots the best he could. Of course, a one-legged goalkeeper is perhaps better than none at all, but in Hermann's case most of the shots on his goal went easily by him. His friends, in jest, nicknamed him "_das Sieb"_, "the sieve". He considered himself lucky that they hadn't come up with something worse; if they could only see him now, a top-of-his-class medical student in his final weeks of residency (and still walking with the same cane), he more likely than not would have been given the nickname "Dr. House". Better to be a sieve, he thought to himself, than a crippled, snarky MD who would get himself instantly canned in any real-world hospital.

Like his soccer dreams, Hermann's aspirations to join the ranks of the great Austrian and German Lieder singers before him had ended soon after his leg injury. Even though he had been blessed with a fine voice, one which would surely get even better with the proper training and instruction, his parents would not let him continue studying music after high school. If he wasn't going to be a great athlete, they said, he needed a job that would pay the bills, and without much input on his own part he was sent off to medical school. Little about the job interested him at the time—he still practiced Schumann and Schubert late at night (much to the annoyance of his roommates) and took voice lessons off campus, paying for them out of his own pocket—but as he studied, he came to the realization that being a doctor was not as horrible a fate as he had first imagined. At his graduation ceremony, he thought about how good his name looked on the diploma, each letter traced in ornamented old-English text, next to which were written the Latin words "_Summa cum laude_". He had never realized how much space his full name took up. "It wouldn't have fit on a jersey anyway," Hermann laughed to himself. "Maybe this was for the best".

Hermann could count the number of trips he had taken after graduating on one finger. Apart from a rather pointless medical conference somewhere in Extremadura, wherein he was the only Stuttgarter, the only German for that matter, at the entire event, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz had never left Germany. Thus, it was much to his delight when Friedrich Ross, the Chief of Medicine at the hospital he had been working at in Stuttgart, announced to him that he was due for a vacation, and that everything had already been arranged with all expenses paid. However, when he learned that he and a friend and fellow doctor of his, Markos Schreiber, were to take a trip to Kenya, Hermann's expression momentarily changed from eagerness to concern. He had heard about Africa in his studies, and had never planned to travel there. Africa meant danger in every form—man-eating animals, extreme weather, and disease. The disease was what frightened him most…sleeping sickness, typhoid, scurvy, everything he had heard about in class, but was certain he would never see or hear of again. Still, the prospect of finally leaving Germany outweighed the risks, and after all, if someone _were_ to get sick, who better to diagnose and treat than him?

"_Danke vielmals, mein Herr_," he finally said with a tinge of excitement. "Thank you very much. Has Markos been notified as well?"

"Yes, we have spoken with him. Take the rest of the afternoon off, pack your things, and be back here tomorrow evening at 5:30." He handed Hermann an envelope containing an airplane ticket, Lufthansa flight 355. "Don't forget to bring this."

Markos Wilhelm Schreiber had been in airplanes more times than he could count. He knew the secrets of getting the best food (to smuggle his own on board the aircraft in a nondescript carryon) and where to sit for the most comfortable ride (the emergency exit row). His companion, on the other hand, had never even seen an airplane this close before, and had certainly not ever been inside one. Hermann had overpacked, to say the least. Unable to ignore the possibility of getting sick with _something_ while on his trip, he had seemingly emptied the contents of the hospital pharmacy, along with one or two of almost every medical supply known to man, into his now-bulging suitcase. Markos could not resist the urge to tease his friend about his newfound hypochondria: "Do you really think you're going to need gauze, penicillin, tongue depressors, syringes, hemostats—five pair to be exact—, and enough painkillers in pill _and_ liquid form to induce a coma in a buffalo?"

"Perhaps, you never know; better to be prepared," replied Hermann with intentional nonchalance. "As if you've never taken the five-finger discount before. If I recall correctly, the same week you got sick with the worst case of the flu any of us have ever seen, a box of five hundred cough drops and a shower steamer went mysteriously missing from the pediatrics storage room."

Soon, the 747 was positioning itself at the end of a runway; Hermann put on the cheap headphones in his seat-back pocket and tuned into the cockpit channel.

"Copy, Berlin tower, Lufthansa 355 heavy cleared for departure IFR to Nairobi."

A huge force unlike anything Hermann had ever felt in his life pressed him back into his seat as the four engines roared to life. He didn't realize that his eyes had been closed until he heard another voice speak over the headphones, "Lufthansa 355 heavy, contact departure."

"Over to departure, Lufthansa 355 heavy".

He released his grip on the armrests and looked to his left, where his friend, with a massive grin plastered across his face, sat filming the entire ordeal.

"Count on you to bring that damn thing along", said Hermann, half-glaring at Markos who still couldn't wipe the smile off his face.


	2. Ankunft

**ZWEI **

_**Ankunft**_

Many hours later, the jet carrying the aspiring-soccer-player-turned-internist and his companion careered to a halt at its destination airport. The two men stepped out onto the tarmac and looked around, none too sure of exactly where they were. The only thing they could tell was, they definitely weren't in Germany any more: the streets and buildings of Stuttgart had been replaced by an expanse of land without a man-made structure in sight, save for the airport terminal. The occasional English phrase could be heard over the winding down of the airplane's engines, but most were talking in a language that neither Markos nor Hermann recognized.

_The boss could have at least sent us somewhere where it's possible for us to at least order a beer_, thought Hermann to himself as he lugged his gigantic suitcase off the luggage cart and into a waiting car.

"Relax," said Markos, well aware of his friend's anxiety. "I've been out of Europe more times than I can remember. Everyone speaks a little English."

"Everyone except you," replied Hermann. "And _my_ English leaves quite a bit to be desired."

"Well, if you want to get technical…" Markos wasn't helping things. Even though Hermann was excited to finally be outside of his native country and knew a lot more English than he would ever let on, this new place was giving him more worry than comfort. Disease, big animals, pirates…

"Markos, what about the pirates?"

"Do you see any water around here? Just shut up and get in the car. With your gigantic bag of unnecessary tricks."

"They're not all unnecessary," replied Hermann. "I put a six-pack of Bavaria's finest in there. Wrapped it up in clothes so it wouldn't break in transit."

By the time the car arrived at the remote campsite, which was quite luxurious for a place in the exact middle of nowhere, the duo was well into the bottles of beer. Revenge for Markos's inopportune airplane video was well off Hermann's mind, and Markos was practically asleep already. All the two really cared about, drunk or not, was finding someplace half-decent to rest for the night, having spent hours in a jet and even more time in a car traversing these seemingly-endless plains.

Hermann stepped out of the hired car and went to the trunk to retrieve his suitcase and his cane. Before he ever made it halfway between the passenger door and the back of the car, he felt a mosquito bite him on the arm. "Great," he thought, "tonight's weather, cloudy with a chance of malaria." He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a vial of anti-malarial pills, swallowing one down before tossing an identical vial over to Markos. "Just take them," Hermann said when Markos rolled his eyes at him and put on an expression of mock disgust. "If you get sick, I'll make sure they stick you in the kid's ward back in Stuttgart." It was enough of a threat to get Markos to comply, as he disliked going anywhere near that part of the hospital. With barely enough energy to stand upright, the two travelers made their way through the dark over to where a tent had been set up with a pair of cots; Markos practically free-fell into the sheets, still wearing his shoes and socks, and went to sleep on impact. Hermann attempted to follow suit, drowsily closing the tent flap and lying back on the bed. But just before he could close his eyes, he thought he heard a voice in the distance, someone crying for help, or so it seemed. Hermann sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. The words he heard, or thought he heard, were certainly not in German, but then again, he couldn't even figure out if he had in fact heard anything at all. "Markos", he whispered to his snoring friend, "You awake?"

"_Ja, hier_," he answered, "I am now. What is it?"

"Did you hear that voice?" asked Hermann. "I thought I heard someone yelling for help."

"No, didn't hear anything, but I'm not surprised you did…that last beer had a roofie in it."

"_What?_"

"He he, relax, I'm just messing with you. Still falling for that one, even after seven years! You were probably just dreaming; either that, or you need to have your head checked."

"Yeah…must have just been a dream. Check your own head." Hermann forced himself to believe it. He saw the moon had just risen over the mountains in the distance, painting everything earthward in a white-blue light. "_Mondnacht,_" a moonlit night, he thought. "Maybe this was the kind of thing Eichendorff was looking at when he wrote his poetry." He knew the entire poem perfectly from beginning to end, but was asleep before he could think of the first word.


	3. Stimmen

**DREI**

_**Stimmen**_

Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD spent his first night out of Germany sleeping for all of thirty minutes. He woke up to the same noise he thought he had heard before, someone or something screaming for help in the middle of the night. He didn't want to wake up Markos and bother him a second time, and he knew what his friend would say in such a case: either he needed to get his head checked, or that last beer had roofies in it. Hermann knew better than to fall for Markos's bad jokes, but now he found himself wondering if, in fact, he had drunk something he shouldn't have on the plane or in the car. Maybe there was something in the water…no, he hadn't drunk anything since getting off the jet! "I'm just tired, it has to be fatigue", he mumbled to himself. "Or a dream. I must have been having the same one as before". Then, undeniably, he heard the sound again, clearer and sharper than before, and made by more voices than the previous two times. He could not mistake what he heard for anything except pure desperation.

"Markos, _aufwachen."_

"_What…is it…now?"_ replied the other, noticeably annoyed.

"Sounds like someone's being eaten by vultures", said Hermann, trying to lighten the situation a bit.

"Is it you?" asked Markos.

"No."

"Then I'm not interested. _Guten Nacht_." Before Markos Schreiber could fall back asleep, however, the sound reached the two men yet again. "What the…" was all he could say in response, trying to make heads or tails of what was going on. "Maybe I got the beer with the roofies in it." He climbed out of the bed and looked out over the African landscape, still well-lit by the waxing moon, and wondered aloud where the mysterious noise was coming from. He didn't have to wait long, as it sounded once more, quite noticeably coming from in front of him, somewhere off in the distance. He could see nothing but trees and rock outcroppings, and quite poorly at that, but unfamiliar as he was with this new spot, he thought he had a good idea of where the voices were originating. After thinking everything over, he finally turned to his friend. "Hermann, get your stuff."

"Uh-huh," replied Hermann, surprised at his friend's change in attitude. "Just a minute ago you were saying I needed to go see a shrink? What's the game then?"

"I heard it just as well as you did. Either we're both crazy, or something really awful is happening out there. Someone could have been attacked, and we're probably the only people within 100 miles that know a thing about medicine."

"Are you forgetting what _else _is out there? Stuff that wants to eat us! People that want to kill us! Bad guys and large animals and pirates and…"

"Again with the pirates? Get off the pirates; we're not at sea, so there's no chance of us running into Somalia's version of Jack Sparrow. And there's a revolver in my bag; take some of the things you brought from the hospital and put them in there as well. If you're going to rob the pharmacy, we might as well put the loot to good use."

"This is crazy," Hermann replied, still exhausted and now quite confused as to who was suggesting what, "we're supposed to be on vacation here and you want to…"

"_Heeeellllp…!_"

Hermann froze where he was, his mind all but made up for him. "Right, leave a note for the driver as to the whereabouts of his car; I think the keys are still in the ignition. Get in the passenger side and co-pilot for me." Markos scribbled something in German that he knew the driver wouldn't understand, left it outside his tent, and wearily lifted the suitcase containing his revolver, an uninspired assortment of clothing, and Hermann's "borrowed" medical things into the back seat.

"It's coming from over there," he said, scanning for something to indicate the way. "That cluster of rocks on the horizon…make straight for it."

"This is a real first," said Hermann once they were underway. "You and I have helped ourselves to this and that in the past—cough drops, band aids, even the occasional free soda from the vending machine—but _carjacking_ someone? That's a line I did think we'd ever cross."


	4. In der Fremde

**VIER**

_**In der Fremde**_

_How are we going to find anything in this beat-up car, at this time of night, going in the general direction of an anonymous voice?_ Hermann wondered to himself. _This thing doesn't even have a stereo; we're stuck with no GPS…no music even….and shot-out suspension until we come across something interesting. It isn't good enough to serve as a go-kart._ But the urge to figure out what had happened overrode his reservations about driving in the old Mercedes. The moon was still in the sky, not quite full, but giving off more light than he had ever thought possible. He was taken once again to his musings on Joseph von Eichendorff and his verses on moonlit nights_, _recalling in particular how the writer had once used the word _Blütenschimmer_, _"_shiny as blood", to describe the Earth's famous satellite. How strangely ironic, he surmised, that he had just thought of that word in that poem, and now he was off in someone's old car, trying to find what very well might be a murder victim. In fact, Hermann was not entirely correct as to the nature of who he would eventually find, but before he could reflect further on the poetic implications of what he was seeing through the car's dusty windshield, he was brought back to the immediate present by a sudden shout from the passenger side:

"_Halt!_"

Hermann skidded the rusty car to a stop and instinctively reached for the revolver, only to find that it was already in his companion's hand. "_Ja, was ist?_" he asked. "What is it, what do you see?" Markos simply pointed in front of the car, trying to aim the revolver with the other hand. "_Nicht schiessen! _Don't shoot!" urged Hermann. "You'll just blow a hole in the windshield, plus, I don't even see anything!" Markos reached over to the dashboard controls with his left hand and flipped on the car's high beams.

"See it now?"

Hermann now saw what had caused their unexpected stop. A large animal stood in a low crouch in front of the Mercedes, with blood all over its mouth and two front feet. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Hermann finally spoke up. "I think…we've found our attacker, or our assassin, depending on how this whole thing ends up. And if it's the second one, it's a job for the buzzards, not us. That thing could easily have taken on someone our size and won." Markos watched ahead as Hermann ran the engine up to no effect, in an attempt to scare the blood-covered creature away. He was about to tighten his grip on the revolver 's trigger (forgetting that a shot would do no good coming from inside the car) when the animal he was aiming at left its former position and slunk away, all the time starting at the car and its occupants.

"I swear it had a grin on its face," Markos whispered to Hermann as he put the Mercedes back into drive. "What was that, a lion? A tiger?"

"Couldn't be…there aren't any tigers here to begin with."

"Whatever the hell it was, it had teeth."

As much as the prospect of running into another such creature intimidated him, Hermann was determined to continue on until he found something conclusive. "Let's keep going toward those rocks," he said. "There's a chance that our friend back there didn't quite finish the job. If we don't find anything once we get to the rocks, we'll turn back."

"Yeah," agreed Markos, but I'd hate to be whoever got on that cat's bad side, if he's even alive when we get there, _if_ we get there. Lucky thing you've brought all this stuff along; how did you manage to get a hold of all this again?" Hermann laughed, remembering how just earlier that day, Markos had been berating him over the exact same thing.

"Well, if you must know, I put laxatives in the janitor's coffee, then I took 'em from the supply closet during his lengthy visit to the commode…how would you have done it?"

"Spoken like a true professional."

_Meanwhile, somewhere nearby…_

Hermann and Markos had been quite correct about one thing: they had indeed come across the attacker, even though situation she was responsible for creating had not become a murder scene just yet. Unfortunately, however, the fact that this attack had been unsuccessful in achieving its end goal was rather irrelevant to the victim on the receiving end. He lay on a rock floor, inert and immobile, while those around him did their best to tend to his many wounds, and he could feel nothing but pain, that sort of white-hot searing that so easily overpowers all else. His eyes could not focus, nor could those of the many who had gathered around him in an attempt to keep him still while help was sent for, as their efforts were of little use. Apart from this group, two hopefuls stood away from the group on a nearby outcropping, watching the approach of the unsuspecting men. They did not know that Markos and Hermann had actually seen the attacker, nor did the two doctors realize that they were quite close to finding what they had set out looking for.

"Over there, behind the rocks. See them? I think they have a car. Yes, they're getting out of the car now, with flashlights…"

"What's keeping them? How can they not see us from there?"

"I don't know, they don't even speak our language. I can't understand anything they said…where did you say they were from again?"

"Somewhere in another country, on a whole other continent. It had a strange name, not like anything I've ever heard before. But I heard they work at healing other people; they're the best we can possibly do."

"I don't trust them. We have had others like them around here before, and it never ended well."

"What have we got to lose? If we do nothing…wait, I can hear them now, they 're right on top of us."

"_Hermann, we're getting nowhere."_

"_Can it. We're not stopping until we find something, good or bad."_

"That must be what one of them calls himself. What a strange name…'Hermann'.

"_In ten seconds I'm going back to the car."_

"_In ten seconds I'm pounding your head in."_

"They don't sound very happy."

"_Aus der Heimat hinter den Blitzen rot da kommen die Wolken heeeeerrr…."_

"_No singing! Stop singing! Wait, where've you run off to now? Where are you? Hermann? HERMANN? Damn it, Sterlitz, this isn't funny!"_

Hermann had crept behind his unobservant friend, and assumed his best Spanish accent.

"'_Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to…'ouch!"_

He had switched into English for that one exchange.

"That wasn't their normal language, was it? It sounded like ours."

"Did you catch the second one's name?"

"No, that was the same person talking as before, and…now they're both wrestling on the ground. One is bonking the other over the head with some kind of walking stick…I, I think they're going to kill each other."

"Well, send someone out to get them; we need them here, now! Go back inside and tell the rest that we've got help on the way."

One observer ran out to where the two men were still engaged in their own version of professional wrestling, while the other went back inside. "Keep him going, we've got help on the way," she said.

"Hear that?" another said. "We have someone coming for you. Stay with us a bit longer." The words went in one ear and out the other unprocessed.


	5. Intermezzo

**FÜNF**

_**Intermezzo**_

Markos and Hermann weren't getting anywhere quickly.

"This is all your fault, getting us stuck out here."

"_My _fault? _You _drove the car, did you not?"

"Under your direction! I should have known better than to trust the guy who accidentally downloaded Romanian dungeon erotica onto all the hospital computers! How many times did they have to tell you, 'if you don't know who the e-mail is from, don't open it!'"

"_You swore you would never mention that again! _And it was _Polish! _Want me to un-accidentally download a punch to your thick skull?_"_

"Sure, go for it, then you can tell the rest of the world you beat up a cripple".

"_You two are doctors, yes_?" The new voice stopped the duo's shouting match cold; they looked in the speaker's direction and shone their flashlights where they thought she must have been standing, but could see nothing except tall grass and rocks. Finally, Hermann spoke up.

"Yes, we are both doctors. Has something happened? Who are you?"

"I'll explain later; you need come with me now as fast as you can." Markos shot a puzzled look in Hermann's direction.

"What the heck did that lady just say?"

"I think she wants us to follow her. You get the suitcase out of the car and bring it with us; I can't walk with a cane and lug that thing at the same time."

Neither Markos nor Hermann could see who had been speaking, and without a visible person to follow, they were all but navigating blind. The most they could do was follow the sound of the footsteps ahead, and use what little moonlight remained to avoid the roots and rocks that dotted the landscape. "I don't like where this is going", whispered Markos to Hermann as they forged on. Where _are_ we going, anyway?"

_A few minutes later_

Hermann was walking as quickly as he could, with Markos following closely behind. He was following footsteps, or the sound of what he assumed were footsteps, when he heard the voice leading him call out, "Stop! Wait here." Picking up his right foot to lean on his cane, he looked around, barely making out what appeared to be an opening in a towering rock formation in front of him. Footsteps sounded inside the dark space, and from what he could hear, there was more than one set of feet. Finally, he heard someone—he couldn't tell if it was the same person as before—tell him something he didn't quite understand; all he could hear was a reverberating echo from inside.

"I think we're supposed to go…in _there_," Hermann said to Markos. "And I don't like the sounds or looks of this one bit. You still have that pistol?" Markos nodded an affirmative. "Good. Get on that rock and help me up, I can't climb it with this leg. We'll both go in side by side with the flashlights; if you see something that shouldn't be there, shoot first and ask questions later." He had forgotten that he was talking to someone who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with an antiaircraft shell. Markos and Hermann made it up the small rock face to the opening, which could now be clearly seen as an entrance to some kind of cave. They left the suitcase outside and looked in at the blackness in front of them. "Right, here we go, e_ins, zwei, drei_…"

"I can't believe this," said Hermann aloud as he walked into the dark and switched on his flashlight, "the newspapers tomorrow are going to read 'Two wayward idiots in German World Cup jerseys were found dead in a remote Kenyan cave'."

"You're not helping things, you know", replied Markos, carrying the revolver and continually tripping over loose stones. "Keep it up, and the cause of death, for you at least, won't be accidental. Plus, you're wearing the stupid football jersey, not me." But Hermann had stopped walking forward.

"Markos," he stammered, "even if you don't shoot me, I think we're dead regardless."


	6. Mondnacht

**SECHS**

_**Mondnacht**_

The pair had walked into a wide cave, into which moonlight filtered through a small opening in the ceiling. Around them was a tight perimeter of lions, all staring intently at these strange newcomers. "Damn it all, it's a trap!" Hermann yelled. "Someone's had us! How many rounds in that revolver?"

"Five, soon to be four! Plug your ears and run!" cried out his friend. But Hermann saw something that gave him a moment's pause.

"_Warten, bis jetzt noch nicht!_ Not yet!" A thin sliver of moonlight had illuminated a smaller circle of lions within the larger group. In the middle of this circle lay the target of the animal Markos had seen earlier, the one who he had been seconds away from firing upon before it slunk away, blood-covered and seemingly grinning. Hermann could see, despite the dim conditions, that this creature in front of him was also a lion, quite young and, more importantly, straddling a thin line between survival and death. The extent of his injuries would have been more than enough to deduce the latter –to come under such attack, survive, and feel no ill effects afterwards was surely a physical impossibility—but the _sounds_ he could hear, the cries the cub made as he lay on the ground in that awful pool of blood…Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz knew, immediately, that in front of him were the worst injuries he had seen in his career, even after a lengthy residency and more than enough time spent in his hospital's trauma unit. Gunshot wounds, job-site explosions, the occasional traffic accident, even a memorable instance of amateur fireworks manufacturing gone bad…none of it came even close to what he was seeing at that moment. All he could do was stand there with his mouth half-open, staring at the lion cub covered in gashes and bite marks and trying to think of something half-intelligent to say. He had half a mind to blurt out, "So this is what we've been looking for," to Markos, but Hermann wouldn't get the chance. One of the lionesses comprising the protective inner circle stepped forward, and looking directly at Markos, said, "Don't…shoot." Markos looked like he was going to be sick.

"Hermann, tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me I ate or drank something on the airplane, tell me I'm sick; _tell me that thing did _not_ just speak!_"

All Hermann could manage was a feeble, "OK, I won't tell you then." He had been thinking the same thing—that the entire event was a dream and that any minute, he was going to wake up back at the campsite, but no such luck. "Put the pistol away," he finally said in a whisper.

"Oh, that's just great, we're surrounded by talking wild animals and you want me to put our only means of self-defense away? Was your grandfather, by any chance, a Kamikaze?"

"No, he was born in Bonn…never mind that, just put the gun away!"

The lioness had not discontinued her approach, and was now within feet of the thoroughly confused pair. She had not understood any of the exchange that had just taken place between Markos and Hermann; all she knew was that these two strangers were the foreigners she had heard about from the others, that they were the only thing standing between the crying cub and death. Somehow, despite the communication barrier, she had to get through to them.

"Please, stop arguing; can you understand me?" she nervously asked Hermann. Hermann thought for a minute, still bewildered and confused.

"_Ja_…yes, I can understand."

"Good, if you'll follow me over here and bring everything you've brought along with you, I'll…"

Hermann had to interrupt. "_Langsamer, bitte, langsamer_. Slower, please. I cannot understand when you speak that quickly."

She regrouped and continued: "I, _we_, need your help. Can you help us, please?"

"Help with what?" asked Hermann, although he knew where this conversation was most likely to lead.

"Come with me," she said. Hermann turned to his friend and motioned for him to follow. Slowly they walked toward the injured lion cub, with Hermann's cane making a wooden _tap, tap_ noise on the stones below. "Can you not walk any faster than that?"

"No, I can't." Hermann answered, "I'm disabled. Who is that, and what happened to him?"

"His name is Kopa," the lioness explained. "He was attacked some time tonight, we're not sure by whom, but whoever it was, he or she almost killed him. He's alive, but only just."

_I think I know who your prime suspect is,_ thought Hermann, remembering how Markos had nearly shot at the unknown animal from inside the car.

"That is his mother, Nala. She is the one who originally sent me out to get you," continued the lioness, looking toward another lioness at the cub's side. The expression on her face was not much better, all things considered, than that of her son.

"But what are we supposed to do here?" continued Hermann. "This is not…"

"You two are the only chance he has. We aren't able to treat injuries as severe as his. Please, I'm begging you, you have to try and help him. Otherwise…" her voice trailed off. When she looked again at Hermann and Markos, tears had filled her eyes; they were already falling from the faces of the lions surrounding Kopa, whose condition hadn't gotten any better in the wasted time the two doctors had spent arguing outside. Hermann was far from completely understanding every word that had just been said to him, but the images in front of his eyes told him all he needed to know. Markos, not able to understand even one word, was similarly keyed in, although not yet able to put his revolver away for good.

"Go back outside and get the bag of stuff, and bring it back to me in here," Hermann said to Markos after a few seconds of silence.

"The bag of _stolen _stuff, you mean," Markos said as he exited the cave, stepping backwards without ever turning around. Unfortunately for him, this resulted in multiple collision with the rock walls before he found the tunnel he was looking for.

"What did you tell him?" asked the lioness in front of Hermann, whose name he had still not learned.

"To get my things, the medicine I took…um…_borrowed_, from the hospital. Sorry, he speaks only German. Nobody here happens to speak any German, do they?" He knew the answer to the question before ever asking it.

With Markos having gone outside, Hermann was secretly expecting to hear the sound of a starting engine, followed by that of an old car peeling away into the night, but soon enough he heard the sound of his friend's footsteps coming back inside. Hermann opened the suitcase with an uninspiring look—if the contents had not been hopelessly jumbled during the flight from Berlin, then it was the car ride that had done them in—but he was ultimately able to find what he was looking for. He looked over toward the lioness who had led him in, trying to piece his words and sentences together in his mind before speaking. This conversation had moved way beyond the normal conversational English—and the normal person-to-person dynamic in any language—he was used to, or at least capable of understanding with a certain degree of fluency. At last, Hermann spoke as best he could: "I will try to do what I can. This is not…normal…for me, but I will try." The lioness nodded in grateful approval. Hermann walked over, with Markos in ever-vigilant tow, to where Kopa was lying.

"_Kannst Du mich hören_?" Hermann asked Kopa in German to no avail, before trying the same question in English: "Can you hear me?" Still, he heard no response. "I've seen this a million times before…he has to be in shock," he said to Markos. "He's going to need stitches on all those injuries, antibiotics to keep any infection at bay, and all the fluids we've got and more. Is there any saline in that bag?"

"'A million times before'…just a _slight _exaggeration, no? And yes, you've got three bottles in here, plus one you seemingly emptied and replaced with…_sniff…_whiskey? Wow, Sterlitz, this really is a new low, even for you." Hermann ignored his friend's color commentary and tried his best to concentrate.

_I'll need a sedative as well; I'm going to have to do as much as I can while he's sleeping_, Hermann thought, _otherwise it's going to be too difficult for the both of us_. "Markos, any sedatives in there?" Markos rummaged through the bag, tossing out a suture kit before finding what his friend had requested.

"What the hell's this doing in here in the first place?" he asked, unable to figure out why Hermann had seen fit to bring general anesthetic on a vacation to Africa.

"Who knows, and I don't really care either way," replied Hermann, "all that matters is, we have it with us. Give me fifty milligrams' worth."

Hermann looked over at Kopa's mother, still lying beside her injured son, and, once again pausing to consider his choice of words, said, "You might…not want to watch this." He injected the sedative where he figured the best spot to do so on a lion was, and watched Kopa slowly drift off to sleep, even though the pained look remained on his face afterward. "_Mein Gott, _this is bad," he said to himself, eyeing a particularly bad gouge on Kopa's side, "but at least it looks like I've gotten the dosage correct". His head was still reeling from everything he had just seen, but he couldn't bring himself to mention it; he had neither the fortitude to let anyone know of his own emotions, nor much confidence in his linguistic ability to accurately do so in the first place. Silently, he went about his work, wondering how on Earth he had managed to stumble into such a strange situation.


	7. In der Fremde II

**SIEBEN**

_**In der Fremde (II)**_

At first, the only thing Kopa could see was a gray-white mist in front of his eyes, blocking out everything from view. Then, very slowly, the scene around him began to resolve itself: he saw, through blurred vision, shapes identifiable as his mother and relatives, along with two creatures he could not recognize at all. Everything seemed to be rocking back and forth, side to side and in and out of focus as if he were on some sort of raft at sea, where on each passing wave changed the whole world's color and appearance. As the delirious fog continued to lift, he saw, more clearly, that the unidentifiable forms were human beings, something he had only ever seen from a great distance and certainly not from three feet away. Despite his impaired state, he could tell that both of these people were lying down and seemingly asleep, but then suddenly one of them sat up and whispered something to the other.

"_Hermann, aufwachen. Dein Patient ist wach_."

What was this? It sounded as if the two people were speaking in some otherworldly tongue, nothing at all like the words and phrases he was used to hearing. Kopa's vision continued to clear, and gradually his other senses started to return as well. What began as confusion now became replaced by fear: he could now see, looking down, that his front legs were wounded and seemingly sewn back together, while other areas were entirely covered with some sort of white wrapping. Were these two humans the ones who had tried to kill him? Were they the ones he had been running from, and had they now managed to track him all the way back to wherever he was now? Kopa's eyes darted around looking for an escape route, but in doing so he looked Markos, who was still trying to wake up his friend, directly in the eye.

"_Oh…guten Morgen, wie geht's?_" asked Markos innocently, not aware that he was now being seen as the would-be killer.

"_Aaaaaaaugh!_" Kopa's shout woke up everybody in the cave, along with a few who weren't even sleeping inside.

"Markos, what did you _do_?" Hermann asked frantically, now having been quite effectively woken up.

"Me? I didn't do anything, all I said was 'good morning'!" his friend replied, not at all able to figure out why his simple greeting had caused such a reaction. Kopa had only grown more afraid, having heard _two_ men now speaking in this strange, ominous-sounding language.

"He's going to kill me!" he cried out. "Mom! Mom! What's he saying? He's going to…ow! _Ow_! Make it stop! Ow! Somebody make it stop!" Much quicker than any of his other senses come back, Kopa's ability to sense pain had returned almost immediately after seeing Markos, and was now making its return unavoidably known. He did not look up and see the look of panic on his mother's face; all he heard was someone say in heightened tone of voice, "_Hermann, das Schmerzmittel! Schnell!_" followed by a sharp prick in his left shoulder. Surely he was dead now, or so he thought until he realized that nothing at all had changed in the scene around him. The pain was slowly diminishing, and he gathered up the strength to speak in a weak whisper.

"Where am I? Who are they?"

"You're at home, Kopa…safe," Nala replied. "Those two saved your life last night; you've no reason to be afraid of them. Go on," she said, looking toward Markos and Hermann. "Introduce yourselves." Hermann stepped forward and tried to kneel down on his right leg without success.

"My name is Hermann," he said, "Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz. My friend and colleague is…"

"I'm sorry, which is your name, Hermann, or the longer one you said after that?" Nala was completely confused, having never run across a name consisting of more than one word.

"Both are," Hermann replied, "one is my first name, and the other is my full name. You can just call me Hermann, there's no reason to use anything else."

"And where did you say you were from?"

"Germany. Stuttgart, to be exact. And Markos over there is from Dresden. " Markos, hearing his name spoken in an English conversation, smiled and waved. "He speaks almost no English…only German, I'm afraid."

"Is that the language you two were speaking earlier?" Nala asked.

"Yes, that was German," said Hermann. "Both of us speak it as our first language. We're here on vacation from Germany."

Having been thus introduced to everyone, including Kopa, who was beginning to realize that these two men were only there to help him, Markos and Hermann were now peppered with questions. With barely enough time to answer one question before fielding another, Hermann wondered if he wasn't in some sort of all-lion-cast version of "Law and Order".

"What do you do in Germany?"

"We're doctors," Hermann replied. "Our job is to help sick people get better." He knew, of course, that this was a major oversimplification, but he was trying to stay on the side of simplicity. Going into detail about his credentials and courses of study at Universität Stuttgart, how he had graduated at the top of his class and now specialized in internal medicine, would only provide Kopa's family with needless information.

"Why are you walking with that stick?"

"This? That's a cane; I'm handicapped, so it helps me get around. My right leg doesn't work quite as well as it used to, ever since I broke it—twice—playing football in…"

"What's 'football'?"

"That's a game we have back home. I was actually thinking about playing professionally before I got hurt. Anything else?"

"Is Kopa going to…make it?" Hermann recognized this voice as Nala's, even though he still had his head turned in the direction of the lioness who had asked him about his cane.

Hermann never liked answering these kinds of questions, but he was grateful at least that in this case, his response would be positive. "I think so," he replied, "we managed to stabilize him overnight, but it's still going to be a long road ahead. Those injuries are severe and will take time to heal, so he's going to be in a lot of discomfort for some time. Fortunately, though, we've got most everything we need to treat that, along with anything else that might come up." Kopa had already fallen back asleep on his mother's front paws, and was luckily not listening to this part of the conversation. "I'm just glad I'm not the person who has to do inventory on the supply closet this week," Hermann added in a German aside to Markos.

"Did you happen to see who might have attacked him?"

"I don't know; when we were driving toward here, we saw this skinny lion-looking animal with blood all over itself...I think a piece of its ear was missing. Markos almost tried to shoot it from inside the car."

As soon as Hermann mentioned the mangled ear, the entire cave grew silent as a tomb. There had always been suspicion that a certain former member of the pride had attacked Kopa in revenge for her being exiled some time ago, but Hermann's account of who he had seen—the body shape, the blood on the mouth and paws, and the torn ear most of all—left no doubt as to the attacker's identity. "So it _was_ her," Hermann heard someone whisper from the other side of the cave. "We ought to have killed her when we had the chance!"

"It was _who_?" asked Hermann, completely in the dark as to what the others were talking about.

"Zira. She once lived here," Nala explained, "until she turned against us and tried to put herself and her crooked friends in power. As punishment, she was sentenced to permanent exile far away from here, but before she left, she swore that she would get revenge on us. We always regarded it as empty threat, until now." It all quickly became clear to Hermann and Markos, the latter listening intently as Hermann translated what he heard into German: this series of events was not an accident or case of mistaken identity—at first, both had entertained the possibility of a big-game hunter setting his crosshairs on the wrong target, or some other large predator mistaking Kopa for a prey animal. What the two men had walked into, and were now playing witness to, was a dictionary-definition vendetta.

"Hermann," Markos said under his breath, "what if she comes back? I mean, she's seen us now in that car, and it's obvious where everyone here is…let's be honest, this place is pretty hard to miss, even from a distance. Sure, she probably thinks she finished the job, but if word gets around that she's only guilty of _attempted _murder…we're going to have a permanent target on us."

"Hermann, what is he saying?" Nala could tell that Markos's was concerned, even though she could not understand his German.

"He's worried that whoever did this will be back again," Hermann replied. "And he's entirely right." There was a general murmur of discontent among everyone else; as all thoughts had been on Kopa up to this point in time, nobody had considered the possibility of the attacker coming back for a second helping.

Hermann and Markos went back to speaking with each other. "We can't leave," said Markos. "We have to stay put, at least for a few days." Hermann nodded solemnly in agreement.

"But what are we going to do about Zira?" he asked. "If she comes back and brings company along, what have we got...a revolver with five rounds in it? I'm not loving our chances right now."

"Wait, didn't the guy back at the campsite have a rifle?"

"Yes, but how are we going to ask him for it? We stole his _car_, Markos…I don't think he's going to be thrilled about lending us anything else."

Both Markos and Hermann knew that going back and trying to borrow more things would most likely not go over well, but they had no other option. "Do you remember where the campsite is?" said Hermann.

"Sure, it's only a five-minute drive away, due west of here. You can even see this rock from there."

"Good, then take the car and try to find where we were yesterday. If someone is still there, tell him we're extremely sorry, we had a medical emergency and needed to take his Mercedes with us. That's when you get on your knees and start begging for more stuff."

"But I don't speak English!"

"Just figure it out!"

Markos turned around with a scowl and fished the car keys out of his pocket as he walked outside. A moment later, Hermann heard the engine start up and the car drive away.

"He is going back to get more things; he should be back in a few hours," Hermann explained. "In the meantime, I'll take it from here." He walked back to where Kopa was lying at his mother's side, awakened by the sound of the departing car.

"Where did your friend go?" Kopa looked around for Hermann's companion, only to see that the duo had been reduced by one. "Did he…ooowww…"

"_Entspann dich, mein Sohn_," Hermann said as he placed a hand on Kopa's bandaged side, "He's just gone to get extra supplies. I'll worry about him; you go back to sleep. All you heard was the car starting up." Kopa had no idea what a car was, but in his exhausted state, all he could was put his head back down and fall asleep as quickly as he had woken up.

"Thanks for that," said Nala once Kopa had closed his eyes again, "you're even better at getting him to sleep than I am!"

"You're welcome, but it wasn't me," Hermann replied. "When I was recovering from the surgeries on my leg, they could have set a bomb off in the next room without waking me up. Sleep is the body's natural reaction to severe injury, after all…the more of it he can get, the better." He walked out of the cave to wait for Markos's return, hopefully in the car and not on foot. _I wonder if I still have those flags in the suitcase from the World Cup games_, he thought, scanning the horizon for any sign of an approaching car.


	8. Wachsamkeit

**ACHT**

_**Wachsamkeit**_

Several hours passed before Hermann once again heard the sound of an engine in the distance. Despite having almost no command of the English language, it seemed that Markos had been successful in his negotiations, as the car held not only him, but also a pair of mattresses, two sleeping bags, a soccer ball, flashlights, and two large-caliber rifles. Hermann, in the meantime, had somehow managed to string up an enormous German flag over the cave entrance, with a Stuttgart Football Club pennant flapping in the breeze next to it. While Markos went inside to set up the sleeping arrangements, Hermann conversed with the pride regarding setting up a sentry system.

"I think it's best to take it in rotating shifts of several hours each," he explained. "There's no way word won't filter back that this attack was unsuccessful, so we have to be prepared for anything."

"What do we do if we see something?" asked a lioness.

"You let everyone else know, but in addition, you pull down the German flag over the entrance. If you can confirm that what you're seeing is a threat, both flags come down. That way, even if someone doesn't hear anything, they have a visual signal, like a ship with signal flags. Markos and I will take the rifles and set up on a high spot, and try our best to take out anything before it gets here, if it turns out to be a genuine threat and not a false alarm."

"Which one is the German flag again?"

"It's the flag with the yellow, red and black bars…the bigger one of the two. Don't touch those rifles," he added, "those are for the two of us and nobody else."

Having thus settled who would stand guard at what time, Hermann walked back inside where Markos had finished setting everything up. "Did you happen to get any food while you were out there?" Markos asked.

"No, I'm afraid we're limited to potato chips and water this evening, unless there's something freshly-dead lying around. We have the things to make a fire, but there's no use in making one unless we have something to cook." Markos had to agree that wasting firewood would be a stupid thing to do, especially since potato chips wouldn't taste any better on the barbeque. He made a mental note to ask about finding fresh meat the next day, and tore into some bland-tasting pretzels.

"Pretend it's a New York strip steak," Hermann said jokingly as he watched his friend choke the pretzels down. "Who knows, maybe there are some animals around here that taste just as good, and we've got the rifles and plenty of rounds. I always did wonder what a gazelle tastes like…probably from watching one too many nature specials as a kid."

"That reminds me, shouldn't we practice with these rifles at some point? If we ever have to actually use them, it might help to know _how _to use them." Hermann agreed that a bit of practice could never hurt, and so he went outside with Markos to find a suitable spot.

_A few minutes later…_

"First, load the shell in the chamber, then close the bolt, put the end of the stock into your shoulder, and rest your cheek on the comb," Hermann explained once he had everything situated. Many of the lions had gathered around to watch his shooting lesson, unaware of just how bad Markos was with a gun. "Look through the sights and line them up with your target…see that white rock about 50 yards away? That's what you're trying to hit."

"Yes, I think see it. Do I shoot now?"

"No, before that you have to inhale, then exhale only slightly and squeeze the trigger while you're holding your breath in. That helps you hold the barrel still. Got all that?"

"I think so."

"OK then, fire when you're ready."

A massive crack rang out, and Hermann saw a distant low-circling vulture plummet out of the sky. "Just a _liiiiiittle_ high," he said, hoping that nobody else had noticed the result of Markos's errant shot. "Make sure you don't jerk the gun up as you pull the trigger."

Markos chambered another round, lined up his sights with the white rock, and tried again. A small shrub to the left of the target rock summarily exploded.

"Am I getting any closer?"

"Only if you're planning on shooting at something the size of an aircraft carrier. Maybe the sights are off…let me try it."

Hermann took the rifle from Markos, lay down on his stomach, and broke the rock in half with his shot. "Nope, the gun's fine. Do it again."

By this time, the lions that had come to watch Hermann and Markos's target practice had rather tired of watching Markos miss time and again, but Hermann wasn't about to let his friend leave without hitting _something_.

_Bang_.

"Again."

_Bang._

Another unfortunate bush was vaporized in a cloud of dust.

"_Again!"_

_Bang._

Finally, Markos hit what he was aiming at. Hermann was still far from confident in his friend's abilities in handling a rifle, but he figured that the practice had been time well-spent. Even so, despite his own skill with a firearm, he hoped that he would never have to even look at the rifles until the day he returned to Germany. When he went back inside with Markos, he was relieved to see that the gunfire had not woken up Kopa, who was still very much asleep in the back of the cave, next to his mother. The same could not be said, however, for all the other lions, who were lying strewn around the floor with their paws clapped over their ears. "Sorry about that," said Hermann. "He can't shoot worth a damn."

From all around them came a unanimous reply: "_We've noticed!_"


	9. Ein altes, schönes Lied

AN: a recording of Schumann's _Anfangs wollt ich fast verzagen_, Op. 24 No. 8, can be found at the following link; the English translation is mentioned in the story. You have to type the word "youtube" in, for whatever reason. I hope I'm not running afoul of any rules here; just trying to make it so people can actually hear the music (which is about 250 years old, give or take, and definitely not under copyright!)

.com/watch?v=yL-e8NrbazU

**NEUN**

_**Ein altes, schönes Lied**_

_Several days later_

"What are you looking at, Hermann?"

Hermann looked up from the sheet music he had been looking over while Kopa, tucked cozily under the blanket Hermann had "borrowed" from the 747, had been sleeping on a makeshift mattress of clothing. He had improved, albeit very slightly, but to Hermann, progress was progress. Things were far from "out of the woods" at any rate; Hermann still had to keep a constant vigil over his patient, and Kopa needed a strong painkiller injected twice a day just to be able to function. It was a procedure for which both parties shared an intense dislike; Hermann had once been the recipient of the same exact anesthetic when he had broken his leg, and since that time he had probably used it on his patients dozens of times. He knew, based on his own unenviable experiences, that it took a long time to inject and that it burned going in, but at least the results were well worth the initial discomfort.

Back home, Hermann had always worked efficiently, but had never possessed what could be called a patient and caring bedside manner. His focus was, of course, to make his patients well, but he often carried out the necessary procedures while looking at the clock and planning out his afternoon as opposed to paying more attention to the finer, more personal aspects of practical medicine. He was glad that his experiences with Kopa had made him change his outlook. Waiting for a few moments, even the better part of an hour at first, to reassure Kopa that he was going to make the shots hurt as little as possible, to instruct him to focus on the colors of the rocks in the wall or the sound of the birds singing outside, or to spend a few minutes simply stroking him on the head before proceeding was now something he considered just as important as carrying out the procedure itself. Of course, try as he might, Hermann could not take away the anxiety or the element of fear to what he was doing. Even though he did his best to put all matters at ease, Kopa would still whimper and startle at the slightest touch when he thought himself about to feel that awful burning sensation. Hermann, knowing exactly what being on the shot's receiving end felt like, hated seeing his young charge in such a state and tried to come up with some remedial measures—once, for example, he had promised Kopa that if he held still and kept calm, he would personally run (or hobble, to be exact) headlong into the rock wall to provide a bit of lighthearted _Schadenfreude_, an undertaking that ended rather predictably with a thud, a nasty cut to the hand, German swear words, and Markos laughing hysterically on the floor—but in the end, it mostly boiled down to patience on his part. "I promise I'll make it as fast as I can," he would say as Kopa closed his eyes tightly and squeezed Hermann's free hand with his good front paw. "It'll be finished in just a moment, and then once the medicine starts working, you'll feel a lot better." It was something he needed to hear himself as much as Kopa did.

Kopa spent most of the day and night resting, on direction from just about everybody who came in to see him, so it was rather to Hermann's surprise that he should now be awake and feeling well enough to ask about what he was reading. "This?" he asked, pointing to the sheets of paper. "It's music, just a few songs by Robert Schumann. When I'm not at the hospital, I practice these...I like to think it keeps me from going completely crazy." Kopa looked at Hermann, who was busy penciling in dynamics and intervals, with confusion. He didn't understand how a song, previously known to him only as something to be heard and passed down, could possibly be written down on a page.

"I don't get it, how do you look at music? And who's this 'Robert Schumann', do you know him?" This question was as confusing to Hermann as written sheet music was to Kopa. Hermann had grown up dreaming of being a Lieder singer, and everyone he knew in addition to himself could read music without a hint of difficulty. And to not know the name Robert Schumann—for him, it was comparable to not knowing what the sun was called, or the colors of the national flag. But then he realized that to someone who had never seen even the most basic song written down in musical notation, a full score for piano and baritone would be quite strange-looking and foreign indeed.

Hermann walked over to where Kopa was lying and showed him the paper in question, which was dotted with all kinds of unfamiliar symbols and words. "Have you ever seen this before?" he asked.

"No," Kopa replied, "what is it?"

"This is a score," Hermann explained. "It's what music looks like when it's written down on paper." Kopa could only raise an eyebrow, causing Hermann to rethink his approach.

"Think of it this way…I can say my name out loud, or write it in letters, correct?" Hermann picked up a stick and scribbled 'H-E-R-M-A-N-N' in the dirt. "And I can do the same thing with your name," he continued, writing out 'K-O-P-A' with the same stick. "Those letters tell you what sounds to make with your voice, which in turn gives you words and sentences. With me so far?" Kopa nodded.

"OK, so what if, instead of a word, I wanted to write out the sounds that make a song? In that case, we just change the symbols to stand for musical pitches instead of syllables." Hermann drew five lines and a crude G clef next to where he had written his name, and then hummed a simple arpeggio. "If I wanted to write those sounds down, I couldn't do it with regular letters; those wouldn't tell me how high or low to sing. But I _can_ do it like this." He carefully drew in the tonic note, followed by the third, the fifth, and finally the octave.

Kopa looked at the dots on the floor, and then asked, "So you're saying, those things tell you what to sing?"

"Yes," Hermann replied, "and the words to the song go underneath the notes. It takes some practice to be able to read everything and know what it all means, but once you get the basics down, it's fairly easy from there."

"It doesn't look easy to me…you must be really good if you can read all this," Kopa said, now looking over at Hermann's songbook filled with annotations, meter changes, and dynamic markings in German. Hermann could read all of them without even having to think about it—he could see every cadence, key change, and ornament on the page and know exactly what to do—but to Kopa, there was simply too much to comprehend all at once: not just black dots, but white dots, dots with little connected tails on them running all up and down the page, _m_s and_ f_s and _mf_s and an _sfz_ …and that was only the first eight measures or so. "So what is this one about?" Kopa asked, trying to find something recognizable.

"Actually, this piece is just one of sixteen separate songs in a cycle; we call it a _Liederkreis_," said Hermann. "It's a story in music…this one in particular is about a young man who falls deeply in love with a beautiful woman."

"And do they get married and have lots of kids?"

"No, actually, in this story she leaves him, and he almost goes insane because of it. At the very end, he's able to recover and move on, but for a while, he's in pretty bad shape. In one song, he's seeing dead people in their graves, and then he starts thinking that the flowers in his garden have started talking with him."

Kopa laughed at the idea of talking plants, even more so when he imagined them speaking in a heavy accent such as Hermann's. "I wish I knew how to read it myself," he said. "What did you say it was called?"

"I didn't" said Hermann, now very much envisioning himself a professor of all things musical. "It's called _Dichterliebe_; it means 'A Poet's Love'. But there's much more to good singing than knowing the notes on the page, you know; you have to feel what the composer felt when he wrote everything down. Every note and word in music has a message; a good singer can stay on key, but a _Meistersinger_ can tell the whole story as if it all happened to him."

"A _Meister-_what?" asked Kopa.

_Meistersinger…_it means "master singer", someone who has been studying music for his whole life. Hermann flipped through the score to another song cycle, and found a short piece of only about twenty bars. Kopa stared at the page, which was mostly black circles with words underneath them. "You know how to sing this?" he asked.

"Actually, yes; it's been a long time since I sang this song, but it was one of the first I ever learned."

"Is it in Germanic?"

"_German_, and yes, it is…Robert Schumann wrote his songs in German. It goes like this." Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz stood up, figured out the starting pitch, and for the first time in his life, sang for an audience:

_Anfangs wollt ich fast verzagen_

_Und ich glaubt ich trüg es nie, _

_Und ich hab es doch getragen, _

_Aber fragt mich nur nicht, wie?_

Kopa was very much impressed. "Wow, you really _are_ good! The song was kind of short, though."

"That's the idea," replied Hermann. "It doesn't need anything else."

"What does it mean?" asked Kopa. "It sounds kind of sad, but not like crying sad, more like…like a strong kind of sad. I mean, he's upset, but in the end he's going to get through it." Even though Kopa did not understand the German, the music had all but translated it for him. The slow yet stately tempo, the momentary change from minor to major and back near the end; in truth, the words were rather unimportant. Hermann was rather surprised with how well Kopa had deciphered the little song's message.

"Yes, that's actually exactly what it means," he said. "There is a translation in here somewhere"—he ruffled through the pages to the end of the book, where the German poetry sat neatly opposite an English equivalent. "Found it! It says,

'_At first I almost despaired,  
And I thought I would never be able to bear it;  
Yet even so, I have borne it –_

_But do not ask me how.'"_

"That sounds familiar," said Kopa, thinking of how his father had once come back from exile to reclaim what had rightfully been his. "It sounds like my dad."

"_Nein, mein Kind_, it sounds like _you_," Hermann replied with a smile. "It _is _you. Herr Schumann would be proud, that I can say with certainty."


	10. Nachtmusik

AN: here's a recording of Schubert's _Nacht und Traume_, which comes up towards the end and is well worth listening to...especially at night! Ian Bostridge is the tenor; again, you need to type in the "youtube" before the rest of the link to make it work. Just listen to the piece, it's one of the prettiest German Lieder out there.

.com/watch?v=HWEVPRCcu2o

**ZEHN**

_**Nachtmusik**_

_That evening_

Outside, the sun had begun to throw off long shadows; Markos had been out for the day, trying to make himself useful (and failing miserably) with Nala's hunting party. Kopa's mother had never strayed from his side since he was attacked, but now that things seemed to be on the upswing, she had decided to leave for a few hours and engage in what Hermann jokingly referred to as _das Einkaufe_, "grocery shopping". As the sky began to darken, Kopa ate a few scraps of meat—he was far from having regained his appetite—while Hermann gorged himself on stolen potato chips from the airplane, secretly hoping for Markos and company to bring back something large, tasty, and edible. A distant gunshot told him that either his wish had been fulfilled, or his friend had just shot himself as opposed to a game animal. _No,_ he thought, h_e might not be a good shot, but he does know which end goes bang and which end to hold on to. Plus, I don't hear any swearing, so that's got to be a good sign_. Kopa had finished the few bits of food in front of him; he yawned and tried his best to curl up, but quickly let out a yelp and returned to his original position. He pretended he hadn't heard or done anything, as he knew the routine once he started hurting again in the evenings. But to a music aficionado with a highly-trained ear, Kopa's little cry was about as ignorable as a live hand grenade being flushed down a toilet.

Kopa, still wincing, tried his best to act uninvolved. "No no no no, Hermann, it wasn't me, honest, it was, uh…you?" He could tell he had no options whatsoever, but he was determined to make it sound believable. Hermann, however, wasn't buying it, as funny as it was to hear such a high-pitched noise pinned on him. "Right, I didn't mean _you_, I meant Markos, it was him."

"Kopa," said Hermann as he walked over to where his things were and filled a syringe with a clear liquid, "Markos isn't here. Trust me, if it was him, you would know. The last time he needed one of these, you would have thought he was being killed in the trash compactor." Hermann found these attempts at redirection rather amusing—they reminded him of how he would react to similar situations as a child—but his lightheartedness faded as soon as he turned around and saw the look on Kopa's face. Kopa had never actually seen the syringe before—he had always closed his eyes as soon as he knew what was coming—but this time he did not have the same good timing, and got a clear, albeit unintentional look, at the entire thing as the sun glinted off the needle. Hermann saw Kopa's eyes grow unmistakably wide with fright, and his breathing immediately changed from normal to the trademark short, choked panic breaths he had come to know so well back in Stuttgart—most of the time, he saw it in critical patients who couldn't tell if they would leave the hospital in a wheelchair or in a plastic bag. "_Damn, _this is my fault," he said to himself as he paced back and forth, trying to quickly think of a way to fix the situation. "How could I have let him see…I knew that he's afraid of it to begin with, and still…how much stupider could I get? They ought to use my diploma as fire kindling." But Hermann knew that beating himself up wasn't going to change things. He put the syringe down where even he couldn't see it, and walked over to where his trembling patient lay, eyes screwed shut, awaiting the worst of the worst.

"Kopa?" No answer. "Kopa, _beruhige dich. __Es ist nicht hier…_it's gone. You can open your eyes." Kopa still did not respond, but he slowly opened one eye and looked in Hermann's direction. Hermann opened both hands to prove they were empty, and then sat down on one end of the clothing mattress. "I'm so sorry," he said, obviously and undeniably embarrassed. "That was entirely my fault. I promise won't ever let that happen again. Just forget you ever saw that; think of something different, like Markos getting stuck in a tree at midnight in a Santa suit…with no pants." He was referring to a certain medical school party incident which, much like the computer episode, he had sworn to never bring up again. He could tell, however, that mentioning one of Markos's least favorite moments had little to no effect on Kopa, who was still unable to calm himself.

"I guess you had a pretty big fright there, didn't you?" asked Hermann after a moment's pause. Kopa nodded rapidly in agreement. "You know, _mein Sohn,_ there's nothing shameful in being afraid," Hermann said, slowly running his hand along the uninjured part of Kopa's back. "Did you ever wonder, by any chance, why I walk the way I do, with this cane?" He tapped it against his right foot for emphasis. "It's because not very long ago, I was in your position."

"What do you mean?" asked Kopa in a wavering voice.

"I broke my leg a few years ago playing football…it's a game we have back in Germany," Hermann answered. "Technically, what happened to me is known as compound fractures of the tibia and metatarsal, but all that means is that the bones snapped in two…not a good thing at all. At first, the doctors told me that it was broken too severely to fix, and that I would probably lose the whole thing from the knee down. Then they said I would never walk, and that it would take three surgeries just to put the bones back in place." He rolled up his right pants leg, revealing an expanse of scarred skin. "And they were right about the surgeries, I'll give them that. But the point is, do you not think I wasn't ever scared that entire time, not even once?"

"No," replied Kopa, "I've seen you…nothing scares you. 'Her-mann Wolf-gang Ster-litz'…even your name sounds like someone too strong to be afraid."

Hermann smiled, as this was the first time someone here had actually pronounced his full name correctly. "Then, my friend, I have done my name a disservice," he said. "In fact, I was named not for anyone of notorious strength, but for an Austrian man named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and also for my father, Hermann Dietrich Sterlitz. However, my name is rather beside the point…the truth is, I was scared back then in the hospital, and I've been afraid since then. I'd be lying if I told you otherwise."

"But what could you have been afraid of? If I could do everything you do, I don't think I'd ever be scared again," Kopa said with a hint of envy.

"Kopa, reading music and speaking German doesn't mean I never get scared. When I was first told that I might lose my right leg, I was afraid that I would never get better, that despite the surgeries and rehabilitation I would be missing a limb or in constant pain for the rest of my life. The first day I started working in the hospital at Stuttgart, I couldn't go five minutes without thinking I had done something wrong or made some kind of horrible mistake…maybe I had read a chart wrong and given the wrong medicine to the wrong patient, for example. And when I came here and saw you that night for the first time, I was…"

"You were what?" asked Kopa.

"I…I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to do anything. Scared that I would fail, even though I was determined to try my best."

Hermann realized that he had let his professional composure slip away with his last sentence, and determined not to let on any more than he already had, he said nothing more, sitting in silence as he watched the setting sun. "_Even so, I have borne it, but do not ask me how_," he thought. "If the guys back in Germany could only see where I am…" After several minutes had gone by, Kopa opened his eyes.

"Are you saying…I need to be like the person in the song?" he said with his head lying in Hermann's lap.

"As far as I'm concerned," Hermann answered, "you're already like him; in fact, you're better than him. You've made it through much worse than he has; all that happened to him was, his girlfriend left him for someone else."

"You mean that?"

"Yes, I do. If Robert Schumann were here today, I'm sure he would write his next _Liederkreis_ about you. Feeling a bit better now, are we?"

"I think so. You…you can do it now, if you want."

"Are you sure? I can wait until your mom gets back with Markos if that would make it easier."

"No, I think I'll be OK," Kopa replied. "Just tell me when…you know…"

Hermann got up, stumbling a bit before regaining his balance with the cane (much to Kopa's amusement), and picked up the capped syringe from where he had hidden it in a stack of clothes. "Right then, ready?" he asked.

"Wait a minute," said Kopa, "could you, um…"

"Could I what?"

"Could you sing me that song again?"

"Of course, I'd be happy to," Hermann said as he shot a glance over at the open music book to look over the words, knowing that Kopa was still a bit nervous. "You can squeeze my hand as much as you like, I won't mind," he said, stretching out his left hand and secretly hoping for no broken fingers after all was said and done. "Just relax and take some deep breaths…that's a good lad."

'_Anfangs vollt ich fast verzagen…_

Kopa felt the now-familiar stick in his right shoulder, but did not shut his eyes in fear or anticipation. He only kept his paw wrapped tightly around Hermann's hand, listening to each slow, subdued note of Robert Schumann's Opus 24 Number 8 come forth and fade away, just as the burning feeling first increased and then gradually dissipated into nothing.

"There, that wasn't so horrible, was it? You know, it's rather strange," said Hermann as he rubbed the injection spot, "I've met all kinds of people before, and some of them reminded me of certain songs from time to time, but never once did I meet someone who fit so perfectly into Robert Schumann as you. Care to give me my hand back now?" Kopa released his grip on Hermann's left hand and sank into the mattress of Hermann's clothing that had since been serving as a bed, his eyes already half-closed and his paw dangling over the edge. Hermann could tell that even though everything had worked out for the better, it would be best for all involved to get an early start on the night. He could always get up, after all, once Markos got back with the others. And yet, it didn't quite feel right to Hermann that he was sleeping on a real mattress, while Kopa, who was certainly deserving of a reward of some kind for his bravery, had to make do with the unneeded contents of the armoire back in Stuttgart. "Hey, Kopa?" Hermann said, "want to sleep somewhere a bit more comfortable tonight?"

"OK," Kopa said with a yawn. "Where is it?"

"Over there," replied Hermann, pointing at his mattress and sleeping bag. "You sleep there, and Markos and I will figure out the rest.

"Are you sure?" Kopa asked. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"Don't worry about that, we'll be fine where we are. You deserve it more than we do. Think you can walk? Try taking a few steps over this way." Gingerly, Kopa rose to his feet and put one paw in front of the other for the first time since the night Markos and Hermann had stumbled into his waiting family. Slowly but surely he picked his way to where Hermann was standing; when Kopa finally stepped onto the mattress, an expression of pure delight made its way across his face.

"I've never felt anything this soft before," he said, carefully lying down on his side and stretching himself out. "What does this do?"

"That's a sleeping bag," Hermann explained. "You get inside it to sleep. But before you doze off, I've got a little something for you. Seeing as it's rather cold at the moment, I think you could do with an extra layer, and regardless, you've more than earned this." He walked over to his suitcase and pulled out one of his treasured World Cup jerseys. "This is the same shirt that the German national football team wears," he said. "See, it says 'Deutschland' across the front. When the World Cup games were in Stuttgart, I got two of these, but I've only ever needed one for myself. You should keep this one."

"But how does it work?" said Kopa.

Hermann chuckled to himself. "It doesn't 'work', you just put it on."

Kopa tried to get his front legs through the arms of the shirt, but only succeeded in getting himself tangled up. Hermann, unable to contain his laughter, straightened out the jersey until it hung more or less as it should, even though it was quite obviously several sizes too big. "There," he said, "you look like a real football player now. That ought to keep the cold out for the time being and keep anything from getting under the bandages. See if you can get yourself in here."

Hermann ran the zipper down on the sleeping bag and helped Kopa, oversized shirt and all, get inside it. Kopa felt as if he were on a cloud, completely pain-free even though he was lying on his bad side. He heard Hermann click off the flashlight, let out a deep sigh, and felt the soft, heavy weight of the flannels as they were pulled up high on his neck. Hermann was about to walk outside when he heard his name called one last time.

"Yes?" he said, trying to make out Kopa's shape in the fading light.

"One more song?" Hermann could tell from Kopa's voice that he was already mostly asleep.

"Alright, just one. Does your mom usually sing to you before you go to sleep?"

"No, not usually...I just like it"—_yawn_—"when you sing; it makes me feel good and warm inside. I don't know why, but it does."

Hermann smiled to himself and thought for a moment about which song to choose before settling on Franz Schubert. "This one is called _'Nacht und Träume',"_ he said. "That means 'night and dreams' in German.

_Heil'ge Nacht, du sinkest nieder;_

_Nieder wallen auch die Träume_

_Wie dein Licht durch die Räume,_

_Lieblich durch der Menschen Brust._

"What do you think…like it?" Hermann asked.

"Uh-huh," Kopa mumbled softly, sinking into sleep. "Keep going? Please?" Hermann happily obliged with the second verse.

_Die belauschen sie mit Lust;_

_Rufen, wenn der Tag erwacht:_

_Kehre wieder, heil'ge Nacht!_

_Holde Träume, kehret wieder!_

Sung into an irresponsive mass beneath the warm layers of quilting, Kopa soon closed his eyes and drifted off. Hermann whispered a nearly-imperceptible _Guten Nacht_, and thought of picking up his cane and walked outside to wait for his friend, but he simply stayed sitting where he was, smoothing the little tuft of brown hair on the top of Kopa's head as he watched him sleep. When Markos returned shortly thereafter with Nala and the rest of the hunting party, Hermann assumed that for once, Markos's aim had actually been true—after all, the defunct gazelle being dragged in clearly had a bullet wound. Nala walked over to Hermann and said in a hushed voice, "He only speaks German, right? He doesn't understand what I'm saying right now?" Hermann nodded his head yes. "Good, then don't let him fool you. _We_ killed it, and then he shot the thing from four feet away once it was already dead."


	11. Einsamkeit

**ELF**

_**Einsamkeit**_

_Later that night_

For several days, a skinny, raggedly-looking lion cub had been traveling toward Kopa and his human caretakers. She had been able to see the massive rock formation on the horizon for more than a day now, but being alone and unable to return to where she had come from, her progress forward was slow at best. As Markos and Hermann sat inside the cave that evening discussing marksmanship and eating stolen airplane food, the cub finally drew close enough to make out the two flags waving in the breeze over the cave entrance.

"Where did you learn to shoot, Hermann? You hit that rock dead center the other day, and it took me five rounds just to get somewhere close."

"My grandfather taught me. He was always into hunting…rifles, shotguns, that sort of thing. He taught almost everyone in my family to shoot, like it or not. Personally, I'm glad he did, although I doubt he ever thought I'd be looking to defend myself from a revenge-crazed lioness."

"I think I'll go for a quick walk outside…can you hang out here for five minutes? Kopa's still asleep, right?"

"Yeah, he's practically unconscious; I don't think a bomb going off would wake him up. Go ahead, just take a flashlight along and stay away from the cliff we found the other day; those things are always bad news."

Hermann lay down on the other mattress and stared up at the ceiling, listening to Markos's footsteps as they grew fainter and fainter. Then, just as quickly as he had left, Markos came running back inside and told Hermann to get the rifles back out. The German flag was no longer hanging up. "Are you sure it's not there?" Hermann asked.

"Yes, it's kind of hard not to notice when something that big is missing."

Hermann was about to step outside himself to investigate when several of the lionesses came running into the cave, telling him that someone unknown was on a direct course for their position. "So much for never needing these things again," Hermann said as he picked up a rifle and handed the other to Markos. "Come on then, let's get up above and see if we can't figure out who's on our doorstep."

The approaching cub had made finally her way to the cave entrance. Tired and hungry, she looked upward and saw, to her confusion, that there was nothing hanging above the entryway. "That's weird," she thought, "I definitely saw something there before. Maybe I'm just seeing things." And then,

"_Achtung!"_

She looked around, trying to see where this voice had come from, but could see almost nothing. "Am I hearing things now, too?" she thought. A pair of eyes was watching her every move through iron sights.

"_Ziel!_"

Had the cub known that this and the command before it were instructions to take aim, she would have surely turned and ran. But as she knew nothing of this other language, she simply remained where she was, still trying to figure out what was happening. She was about to find out, and very quickly at that.

"_FEUER!…nein, warten! Ist ein Welpe, nicht schiessen!"_

Markos heard Hermann's instructions to hold his shot, but he had already pulled the trigger back most of the way. In a desperate attempt to redirect the bullet, he swung the rifle barrel skyward as the gun went off. The cub saw a blinding flash of light and heard a massive noise explode out from behind a boulder. When she regained her vision, she moved out of the way just in time to avoid another vulture plummeting out of the sky. All the cub could do was cover up and hope this wasn't her last few seconds of life. She could hear yelling from the direction of the shot.

"Do you not know what the word "wait" means? And that's the _second_ buzzard you've wasted this week!"

"Yes, but I also distinctly remember somebody yelling "FIRE"! Was that or was that not you?"

"From now on, _I _shoot, _you _spot. You've lost your shooting privileges for the time being!"

The lion cub had seen a firearm before, but not knowing any German, she had no idea what Markos and Hermann were even talking about. She slowly crept over to the boulder behind which the two men were still hiding and bickering, and peered around it to get a better look. Hermann was still chewing his friend out.

"I should have known better than to not take that shot myself…"

"The way I see it, if I _hadn't_ moved that gun up at the last minute, we'd have a real mess on our hands. And I was following _your_ directions!"

"If you'd been following them, you would have held fire, not…oh…"

"What now?"

"Seems we've got company."

Markos turned around and saw a pair of small yellow eyes, half-hidden on the other side of the rock. "So this is what you told me to shoot," he said, "a cub? She's no older than Kopa…who took down that flag in the first place?"

"Never mind who took it down, it doesn't matter. Ask her who she is and what she's doing here."

"You do it; I don't speak enough English."

Hermann walked out from his hiding place and knelt down in front of the cub. "I'm sorry about that," he said, "I promise we're not going to hurt you. We thought you were someone else."

"Can't you tell the difference between someone my size and another lion?" she shot back.

"Actually, in this light…no. We don't see very well in the dark. Again, my sincerest apologies, that's never happened before."

"_Sure _it hasn't. You talk funny… speak normally, will ya?"

"This _is _my speaking normally; I just have a strong accent. What's your name?"

"You first…and where are you from where they speak like that?"

Before Hermann could explain where Germany was and why he spoke the way he did, a group of lionesses came charging outside, having heard the gunshot and assuming that Markos had killed the supposed intruder. One walked over to Hermann and asked, "Did he get her? Is she dead?"

"No," Hermann replied, "thankfully, she's very much alive. Maybe a bit shaken up, but uninjured. We've made a bad mistake, one which we should take care to not repeat. This isn't our assassin…not even close to it."

"_Who_ isn't even close?"

"Her, right over…wait a minute, where's she gone off to? Hermann looked around and saw Markos pointing at the other side of a bush, one which had been mercifully spared from his target practice not too long ago. He walked to where his friend was pointing and saw the cub, who had tried her best to hide as soon as the other lionesses had come out of the cave. "What are you doing under here?" he asked. "You're not in any danger; like I said, we thought you were someone else."

"Did that 'someone else' happen to have one torn-up ear? Because if that's the case, I'm not sure about that whole 'not being in any danger' thing."

"Actually…yes, she has a torn ear. That's who we were expecting, at least. You know her?"

"Are you completely blind? You don't see any similarities between her and me at all?" Hermann shook his head. "Yes, you could say I know her. She's the one you've been waiting for…the one you're trying to kill, right? I know her because she's my mother, or she was until a few days ago. She's nothing to me now; I left as soon as I found out what she did."

Hermann felt a chill run up his back. "You've got thirty seconds to explain why you're here," he said, rethinking his position on the cub's not posing any threat whatsoever.

"But, I…" the cub stammered.

"Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…" Hermann felt a nudge on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, she's not any danger," a lioness told him. "She was Kopa's best friend before her mother was exiled. Still, I didn't expect her to come all this way." She turned her attention to the bush, behind which the cub was still half-hidden. "You can come out, Vitani," she said, "we all know who you are. How long did it take you to get here?"

"Four days or so," the cub replied. "When I heard my mother had killed Kopa, I escaped that night to come here. I just want to see him one last time to say goodbye, then I'll leave."

"It seems word doesn't travel quite as fast as I thought it would," Hermann said. He thought the whole story sounded rather fishy, and was half convinced that this 'Vitani' was acting as an informant for her mother. "Markos, come over here a minute. And only speak German."

"Only German…that won't be difficult! What is it?" Markos asked.

"This isn't just any old lion cub, it's Zira's daughter. Apparently, she and Kopa were good friends, and now she's here thinking he's dead. Something about paying her last respects and then leaving. But I'm not buying this…what if she goes straight back to her mother to tell her that Kopa's alive?"

"_Mein Gott, _Sterlitz, you really _are_ cynical. I think you're over-reacting, but if you're that concerned, ask her about whatever you want to know. Don't rush judgment until you've heard the whole story…and if you could translate it into German for me, that would be much appreciated."

For the next thirty minutes, Hermann came up with question after question, not even pausing to consider the cub's answers before he asked another. He was trying to find an inconsistency of some kind, some sort of contradiction or tell that would tip him off to Vitani's "real" intentions here, but as he continued asking and asking, no such thing appeared.

"Enough with the questions already!" Vitani snapped after putting up with Hermann for what seemed like an eternity. "I just wanted to see Kopa once more and then leave. My best friend is _dead_, is that too much to ask? And _you_ don't run this place anyway, so you can't keep me out even if you wanted to!"

"I'll have you know that your friend is quite alive," Hermann replied. "He was critically hurt and is in the middle of a long recovery, but he definitely is not dead." _You idiot,_ he thought, _you_ _just gave away the keys to the bomb_. When he looked back at Vitani and saw her expression, however, he quickly realized that Markos and the other lionesses really had been correct all along. "Ach…I'm sorry," he said after a long and awkward pause, entirely disgusted with himself for the second time that day. "I didn't mean to come across so…nasty…it's just that we've all been a bit wound up around here. No more questions, I promise." Vitani was still running Hermann's words on Kopa's survival through her mind, and took almost no notice of his apology.

"He's…alive? Kopa's alive?" Her attempts to conceal the quivering that had crept into her voice were largely unsuccessful.

"Yes, he's alive. My name is Hermann, by the way—Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz—and that's Markos standing over there. I think you already know everyone else." Hermann was trying his best to rebuild a bridge which had been all but dynamited by his impromptu interrogation.

"Where is he?"

"Where is who…Kopa? He's here. Asleep." Looking over at Markos, he added in German, "That reminds me, we're going to have to flip for who gets the other mattress and who sleeps on the stack of clothes."

Vitani couldn't believe what she was hearing. Only a few moments ago, she had been operating under the assumption that her best friend had perished; now she had found out not only that he was alive, but that he was only a stone's throw away from where she was standing. This night was ending much better than it had started; all the travel exhaustion, loneliness, errant gunfire, and the never-ending game of "twenty questions" now seemed rather superfluous. "Can I see him?" she asked, not quite knowing what to make of Hermann's news.

"I suppose so," Hermann replied. "Come with me. Everyone else…let's put the flag back up and turn in for the night." He picked up his rifle from where he had laid it down and led Vitani inside.

"What the heck are those flags for, anyway?" she asked as she walked through the entrance.

"Part of my early warning system," Hermann said, loving the chance to gloat a bit. "We've put up a bit of a security network since Kopa got attacked, and you tipped it off as soon as someone saw you coming. That's why there weren't any flags there before; we were watching you long before you ever got a glimpse of us. Kind of like a ship with signal flags…"

"Except a lot more primitive, and run by two gun-happy nut jobs with bad aim as opposed to a trained professional?"

"If you want to put it like that…but it worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, it worked fine, right up until the attempted whacking."

Hermann sighed in frustration and walked on, knowing that he probably wouldn't ever live this one down regardless of who had pulled the trigger.

As she walked behind Hermann, who had neglected to take a flashlight with him, Vitani couldn't help but wonder exactly who she was following and what he was doing here. "Wait," she called out, "Hermann Wolfga—…whatever the rest of your name is; I lost track after the eighteenth syllable—before you kill yourself running into another boulder, who are you?"

Hermann had now told the story of how he had arrived here to almost every member of the pride, and was less than enthused about having to tell it again, but he obliged nonetheless; it was the least he could do after everything that had happened that night. Vitani continued following behind as Hermann told her what had happened, from the encounter with Zira in the car to Markos's ill-fated shooting lessons. As she listened, Vitani began to have second thoughts about asking to see her friend. Would he even be recognizable, given the extent of his injuries? Would he want to see her in the first place, given her rather close relation to the lioness who had nearly killed him? Maybe it was better to just forget the whole thing and turn back…

Hermann could no longer hear footsteps; when he turned around, he could see that the silhouette behind him had stopped moving forward. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Is Kopa…never mind. Doesn't matter." Vitani didn't quite finish the sentence. She couldn't stand showing any kind of emotion around anyone; ever since she could remember, she had been told that those kinds of things were nothing but weakness.

"Is Kopa what"?

"Is he…hurt bad?" Now Hermann knew what had been troubling Vitani, despite her attempt to put up a stone-faced exterior; he had seen more than enough people all but collapse on the floor after seeing a friend or family member lying half-dead in a hospital ward post-trauma. It even bothered him in the worst cases, and here was someone who confronted the worst of the medical worst every day.

"Well, he's…yes, I'm afraid so, he's been badly injured, and it's only been a few days since he was attacked. But that doesn't mean he won't be glad to see you. I'm sure he'll be quite happy you've come, and that's the important thing. Come on, it's just a few steps more."

Hermann was trying to be sympathetic, but his response to Vitani's question hadn't done much good. Still, Vitani knew that her reservations about seeing her friend in such a pitiful state were little compared with the simple desire to see him again…alive. Slowly and quietly, expecting the worst, she walked up to where Hermann had laid out his mattress and sleeping bag. Kopa was still fast asleep and enjoying the most comfortable night of his life, completely motionless and soundless except for the slight rise and fall of his side. All Vitani could see was his head, along with part of one paw and some of his neck, the latter two being wrapped up in white bandaging with a faint dark stain underneath, but it was enough for her to tell that this was, in fact, Kopa. She fought off the urge to wake up her friend right then and there, and instead took a long look at what little of Kopa she could see. "Can he feel that?" Vitani asked Hermann, eyeing Kopa's bandaged neck.

"Yes, he can feel it," Hermann replied, "but he gets a shot twice a day to take the edge off and help him sleep…in fact, he's been quite content for the past few hours. I managed to stitch the worst spots back together with regular monofilament," he said, switching into medical speak, "and used a combination of…"

"Wait, wait, wait…he gets _shot_ twice a day? What kind of quack are you?"

"No, he gets _a _shot…not what you're thinking of. No guns involved, especially not anything with Markos pulling the trigger. You'll probably see how it works tomorrow. And keep your voice down, you don't want to wake him up."

"Tomorrow?" Vitani was not expecting an invitation to stay more than a few minutes, never mind the whole night. "Are you saying I can stay?"

"It's not up to me, but for this night at least, yes, and I suspect you'll be allowed to stay here for as long as you want. Seems everyone around these parts knows who you are, and plus, it'll be good for Kopa to have someone around besides his immediate family. I'll have to take it up with the others, but I'm sure they'll let you stay. If you've come all this way to see Kopa and have got nowhere else to go, I can't imagine they'd tell you to leave."

"Huh…I guess you're all right," Vitani said, "for someone who can't make a _w _sound. Where are you from anyway, the Bad Accent Pride?"

"No, I'm actually from Stuttgart, and it's called a _German_ accent. Would it kill anyone around here to know where Germany is?" Hermann replied with mock disgust. "Anyway, there's room for one more on that mattress, I suppose you can camp out there next to your friend."

"OK, I think I can fit next to…hmm…what's that he's sleeping inside?

"That's the sleeping bag I brought with me from Germany…keeps me warm at night. Lack of fur and all that."

_Humans, _Vitani thought. _How pathetic. _And yet, four days of walking with little water and no food were making Kopa's sleeping arrangements look quite inviting. She found it undeniably amusing that the likes of Hermann couldn't even go to sleep without needing something extra to simply survive, but she also couldn't deny that for this night at least, taking Hermann up on his offer would be a welcome change from sleeping on cold, windswept rocks and barren patches of ground. "It looks…pretty comfortable," she finally said.

"Yes, it is." Hermann had a good idea of what was coming next. "Let me guess…you want in with him?"

"Yeah, I'd like that…and it's 'want', not 'vant'." She wasn't trying to sound snooty, but Hermann's Germanized pronunciation was comic material far too good to pass up, and Hermann could tell that it was meant in jest.

"_Whatever,_" he replied, taking extra care to replace the _w _at the beginningwith a long, drawn-out _v_. "Go ahead, get in."

Vitani, who thought this night couldn't be ending any better, painstakingly stepped onto the mattress and into the sleeping bag that Hermann had carefully unzipped. It really was as comfortable as she thought it would be, and was already warm from Kopa's having been inside it for several hours. She looked quizzically at the soccer shirt her sleeping friend was wearing for a second before settling in next to him. _This sure beats that rock my so-called mother used to make me sleep on_, Vitani thought as Hermann re-zipped everything and picked up his cane from the floor. _I guess this guy's not so bad after all._

Right, I'm going to find Markos," Hermann said. "We'll make sure everything is back to normal and then go to bed ourselves. _Guten Nacht_."

"You're in Africa," Vitani whispered with a smile as Hermann walked back outside. "Learn the language." She was beginning to like Hermann just a bit, even though he was partially responsible for almost putting a bullet between her eyes.

For once, the darkness didn't seem stark or threatening, but rather it had taken on a sort of soft, natural quality, the way it was supposed to be all along. Vitani rolled over onto her other side and gently touched Kopa's one uncovered paw with her own. She whispered his name as softly as she could, after which Kopa groggily opened his eyes and looked at her.

"_V…vi…tani?_" It was all he could get out before falling back asleep.

Vitani smiled, truly happy for the first time in her life, letting the faint, rhythmic sound of Kopa's breathing in and out slowly fade the outside world to black. _It's not a dream_, she thought, tucking her head under her friend's chin and shutting her eyes. _You're alive_.


	12. Die Schlaftabletten

**ZWÖLF**

_**Die Schlaftabletten**_

Kopa awoke the next morning with the sun shining on his face through a crack in the rocks. He figured that he was the only one in the cave, and that his mother, Hermann, and Markos had all gone outside, but when he groggily opened his eyes, he saw that he wasn't alone. Someone else was lying next to him, twitching her tail and looking at him intently.

"Kopa! You're awake!"

Kopa shook his head and blinked a few times.

"Vitani? When did you…"

"Last night, don't you remember?"

"Sort of, I thought it was just a dream…you made it all the way here?"

"I had some issues getting past security; there's a long story behind that, but no matter, it's…oh my God, Kopa, what did she _do _to you?" Vitani worriedly eyed Kopa's neck where Zira had left a trail of bite and claw marks too small for Hermann to re-suture. "I'm so sorry this happened," she said, licking at what little exposed skin there was, "if I knew that she was going to do this, I would have—"

"It's not your fault, Vitani. I'm just glad you're here." Kopa stayed lying down as Vitani kept licking his cuts, not quite able to tell her that it stung. "I know you didn't have anything to do with it." He could see that in the corner, lying half-on-half-off another mattress, Markos was still unconscious.

"Is it really bad?"

Kopa frowned and nodded his head. "Hermann says it's healing, but it still hurts a lot. It's not all bad, though... I got this neat-looking shirt to wear so that I stay warm at night and keep my bandages clean. It's from Germany, the same place Hermann comes from."

"Can you take a step forward?" Vitani asked. Try and get up, what's the worst that happens?"

Kopa had his doubts, but wanted to impress his friend. He tried to put some weight on his front legs, only to quickly lie back down with a grimace. It seemed he couldn't do much of anything without setting off one or more of his injuries. "Sorry, Vitani," he said gloomily. "Can you go find Hermann? He's got something he gives me which might help some."

Out on the rocks, Hermann, who had a clearly-visible print of the words "Universität Stuttgart" diagonally across his face—in the same lettering as one of the shirts in his improvised mattress—set about securing the pride's next meal. "Everybody watch that gazelle over there," Hermann said to a group of lionesses. "See it, the one grazing by that little hill? Now, I took the liberty of putting a little something in that puddle of water by the reeds. Let's wait and see if he goes to get a drink." Sure enough, the gazelle picked its head up and ambled over to where the water had collected on the ground.

"What's he going to do?" asked Nala, who had decided to let her son sleep in. "What's in the water?" Hermann simply smiled a wry grin as he watched the gazelle drink.

"In five, four, three, two…and…"

The gazelle fell over with an audible thud. "Extra-strength sleeping pills," Hermann exclaimed triumphantly. "I thought that trick was dead long ago! It certainly makes hunting easier, that's for sure." He was still gloating over his handiwork when Vitani surprised him from behind.

"Hermann?"

"Yes?"

"Kopa's up, he says he needs something or other that you have; I didn't catch what it's called."

"I know what it is he needs," Hermann said. "Thanks for letting me know. Nala…and everyone else…I'll be back in a minute."

Vitani followed Hermann as he started to walk back inside. "Is your leg okay?" she asked, seeing that Hermann was walking with a bad limp.

"Actually, not really. I took a bad step last night after you two went to sleep—there was a hole in the ground I didn't see with my flashlight—and my ankle didn't appreciate that very much. And of course, it had to be the ankle they did two surgeries on, and not the perfectly good one on the other leg. Did you two sleep OK last night?"

"I did, and Kopa didn't even move until he woke up this morning, so he must have felt the same way! I owe you one for putting me up overnight, even if you did tell your crazy friend to shoot me."

Vitani walked on ahead of Hermann, who couldn't move much faster than he was already going. When Hermann finally made it inside, he saw that Markos was still sprawled out asleep.

"Markos, wake up, the Reichstag burned down again."

"_Huh? When?_"

"Good, you're up…how about giving me a hand, seeing as I can't do much besides plod along at the moment? This leg of mine feels like it's falling off. _Guten Morgen, _Kopa…sleep well last night?"

"Yeah, I didn't even wake up until a few minutes ago!" Kopa said.

"Still pretty sore though, I take it?"

"Uh-huh."

"I think we can fix that, especially as it's far too nice a day to spend inside. Feel like taking a bit of a walk?"

"I don't know…I can't walk too well."

"Have you seen _me_ trying to walk this morning? Trust me, the bar isn't being set very high, and it'll be a lot easier once this stuff kicks in. _Markos, grab me the usual for him, and enough aspirins to kill an elephant for myself."_

"We're out of aspirin; you must have stolen an empty bottle." Markos threw an empty metal flask aside that clearly had claw and teeth marks on it. "And whatever was in here—rum, I think—has already been drunk by someone other than you or me. Serves you right for trying to—

"Why's the rum gone?"

"Isn't the aspirin more important?"

Markos shook his head in disbelief, begrudgingly fetching Hermann what he needed, and then took a seat alongside Kopa. "Kopa, say this. To Hermann," he said quietly, whispering something in German. Kopa repeated it aloud a few words at a time.

Hermann could only shake his head and laugh. "Do you have any idea what you just asked me?" he said.

"No…what was it?"

"Well, we will have to tell Markos that no, I am _not _whining about my leg, and no_,_ I would _not_ like to buy a ticket for the 'pain train' for five Euros, but I appreciate his pretend concern for my well-being." _That's the first time Markos has said anything in English since I can remember, _Hermann thought.

_Shortly thereafter…_

"_Meine Damen und Herren, Achtung, Achtung!_" Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked toward where Hermann's voice had come from."I hate to interrupt, but I think you'll all be able to forgive me for it. Markos, Kopa, Vitani, this way, please._"_

Every eye was on Hermann and the entrance to the cave behind him as three figures gradually emerged in a line. Kopa stood in between Markos and Vitani, proudly sporting his German soccer shirt and ever so slowly stepping forward as he leaned on his friend's shoulder. All Hermann could do was watch and smile as cheers erupted from behind him. _"Dreimal Hoch für Kopa!" _Markos exclaimed. _"Auf seine Gesundheit! Hip-hip…"_

"_Hurrah!"_

"_Hip-hip…"_

"_Hurrah!"_

"_Hip-hip…"_

"_Hurrah!" _Hermann got a little too wrapped up in the last cheer, and accidentally launched his cane into a group of lionesses behind him. "Sorry," he said, "could someone give me that back? I can't walk without it, especially today."

Vitani ran out from where she had been standing next to Kopa and grabbed Hermann's cane in her mouth. "So, you really need this thing to walk?" she said.

"Yes, you know that I do," replied Hermann.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if someone took it? Someone like…me?"

"Don't even think about it. Wait, where are you going? _Halt! Komm mal her!_"

As Hermann tried to chase after Vitani on one leg, much to the amusement of everyone else, Nala ran up to Kopa, barely able to contain herself. It was quite enough for her that Kopa was simply alive, but to see him taking his first real steps since the night of the attack—even if he was doing so in a German soccer shirt—seemed almost too good to be true. "Mom, stop!" Kopa said as his mother licked the top of his head over and over. "You're embarrassing me, and you're going to knock me over!"

"Too bad," Nala laughed, "what are you all dressed up as, anyways?"

"I'm a German football player, of course!"

"You mean that game Hermann used to play?"

"Yeah, did you know he was going play professionally before he hurt his leg?"

"I remember he said something about that…personally, you should be thankful he got stepped on and became a doctor instead!"

Hermann had finally gotten his cane back from Vitani, not because he caught up with her, but because she had finally tired of playing catch-me-if-you-can and dropped the cane on the ground. "I never thought I'd find someone more predisposed to shenanigans than you," Hermann said breathlessly to Markos, "but I think I have…she's got four legs and a tail, and goes by the name 'Vitani'."

"What can I say, I just rub off on people," Markos replied with a grin. "Anyway, now that all the introductions have finished, I think I'm going to jump in that pond over there and cool off for a bit. Anyone up for joining me? Hermann, ask them if they want to come along."

"He wants to know if anyone feels like going swimming," Hermann said to the two cubs. "And I think I'm going to go with him; it's kind of hot today."

"Mom, can Vitani and I go? Please?" Kopa asked Nala.

"Well, I suppose if Hermann says it's OK, it's fine with me, but I'd feel better if someone took you down there as opposed to you walking yourself," Nala replied.

"It's fine, it'll actually be good for him…helps to keep everything clean and such," said Hermann. "Maybe he can sit on Markos's shoulders."

"What did you just tell her about me?" Markos said to Hermann as soon as he heard his name mentioned.

"Nothing, I just designated you as the cargo plane, that's all. Seeing as I can't do much right now besides carry myself along, we haven't got much of a choice," Hermann replied with a smile.

"OK, fine, what am I supposed to carry?"

"Kopa."

A few minutes later, the four were walking out toward the pond. Hermann and Vitani strode along under their own power, while Kopa constantly kept telling Markos to walk slower so he wouldn't fall off. After more than a few close calls and several "two-headed troll" comments from Vitani, everyone arrived at the pond, whereupon Markos promptly let Kopa down and dove in.

"Aren't you going to take that shirt off?" Hermann asked. "Why would you go swimming fully-clothed?"

"Do you see a washing machine around here?" Markos replied, floating on his back. "It's either this, or attracting the vultures with the stink." Hermann had to agree that almost a week without a shower had left both him and Markos—and all their clothes—rather rank. He took off his shoes and socks, and set his cane down where he wouldn't forget to pick it back up; Vitani had already gone in and was busy chasing Markos around.

"Those two certainly seem to be enjoying themselves," Hermann said to Kopa, who was eager to jump in himself. "Just hold on a minute and let me take all that wrapping off; I'll re-do it when we get back, but you should leave it off for now."

"OK, I guess that's all right," Kopa said, hoping that whatever was covered up wouldn't look too gruesome exposed. He was pleasantly surprised to see that both of his front legs sported only a thin line where Hermann had stitched the cuts back together, and little else indicative of injury; certainly not the battlefield-esque wounds he had been expecting. Hermann was simply glad that Kopa didn't think to turn around and have a look at the rest of himself, which, although well on its way to healing, was not nearly as tidy-looking as his legs were.

"Right, you can go in now," Hermann said once the last bits of wrapping came off. "Watch this…give me a ten!" He took a half-running start and crashed stomach-first, with all the precision and poise of a drive-by shooting, into four feet of water.

"Five and a half points, if you're lucky," Kopa said as he stepped gingerly into the pond, slowly but surely going in up to his neck as the initial stinging from the water subsided. He had his eyes closed in contentment and a relaxed smile on his face, thinking of nothing but how cool and soothing the water felt, until he heard some familiar voices from in front of him:

"Marco!"

"Polo!"

"Marco!"

"I thought your names were Hermann and Markos?"

"We _are_ Hermann and Markos, Vitani; it's just a game. Kopa, aren't you going to swim at all?"

"Maybe," Kopa replied, enjoying simply standing in the pond without doing anything more. "I kind of like it over here…you guys swim for a while."

As the early afternoon sun slowly began to descend, Vitani was still chasing Markos around, and Kopa was lying in the shallows, resting his head on a flat rock. Hermann had set about trying to clean off the week's worth of dirt that had accumulated on his clothes and hair. Even though he wasn't able to get most of it out, he couldn't deny that he was enjoying this little excursion regardless.

"This is great, it's like having our own private pool out here!" Hermann exclaimed to Markos. "And nobody else in sight for miles…just me, you, the crocodile over there, Kopa…"

"The _what?_"

"The crocodile, can't you…oh _crap! Markos, Vitani, run! Kopa, stay there, I'll get you!_"

Kopa laughed at Hermann's reaction. "Relax, Hermann," he said from where he was lying by the bank, "he's lived here for years; everyone in the whole pride knows him. Hi, Roberto!" The croc gave a small nod of his head in recognition, and then went back underneath the surface.

"'Roberto'? It has a name?"

"Of course, why wouldn't he have a name?"

"What I meant is, why is _his_ name Castilian while everyone else around here has a Swahili name?"

"I don't know…he told me once, but he's kind of hard to understand. Something about escaping from a zoo in Spain, whatever that means. He's a nice guy, though, even if he stays underwater for most of the day. Hey, look, there's a gazelle over there."

Hermann turned around just in time to see another gazelle keel over. _He must have taken a drink out of the same puddle as the first one, _he thought.

"Why did he just fall down?" Kopa asked. "Is he asleep?"

"Yes, he is," replied Hermann. "I put some sleeping pills in a puddle of water this morning so that your family could have one of those guys for dinner tonight, but it looks like more than one gazelle drank the water! Oh well, he'll wake up soon enough—

"_Ooh, qué delicioso." CHOMP._

"—Ugh, never mind. We just fed Roberto."

On the way back home from the pond, Kopa was trying hard to simply stay awake on Markos's shoulders, even though the afternoon sun had just started to go down. All things considered, it had been a rather full day for him, but he decided to keep himself up by asking Hermann about Germany.

"How do you say, 'My name is Kopa' in German?" he asked.

"You say, '_Ich bin Kopa_', or '_Ich heisse Kopa'_; both mean the same thing."

"What about, '_I am a lion'?"_

"That would be, '_Ich bin ein Löwe'."_

"_Lowe?"_

"No, _Löwe_, it's like…OK, forget that, there's nothing in English that makes that sound. Think of it as a halfway between an _o_ and _e_.

"Where's Stuttgart?"

"About halfway between Ulm and Mannheim, in the southern part of the country. Say, looks like we're back home; _Markos, go ahead and let him down._" Hermann chuckled to himself that he had just used the word "home" to refer to where Kopa lived, and not his own hometown in Germany.

Kopa carefully stepped off Markos's shoulders and slowly walked inside with Hermann, who was trying his best to not look overly-fatigued as he put on some new wraps and then helped Kopa back into the German soccer jersey. When Markos came walking in with Vitani shortly thereafter, he saw that Kopa had already wormed his way inside Hermann's sleeping bag, and that Hermann was sitting down on a nearby rock, obviously tired and sweaty from all the walking on his bad leg.

"You look like you've just run a marathon or something, Sterlitz," Markos said. "Want something to drink?"

"Since you're asking, yes, I could do with a drink. I haven't had much of anything all day," Hermann replied. Markos handed him a canteen, and Hermann gulped the contents down in a matter of seconds. When he put the flask back down, he saw that a familiar, sinister grin had crept across everyone's faces. "What?" he asked confusedly, "what's so funny?"

"I learned how to say something in your language today," Vitani said. "Kopa taught me. It's '_guten Nacht'._"

"Ah, good, but it's only the evening; you wouldn't say '_guten Nacht' _until around…no, you can't be serious…"

Markos, Kopa, and Vitani all replied in unison, "Five, four, three, two…"

_Thud._


	13. Zwielicht

**DREIZEHN**

_**Zwielicht**_

_Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen._

Where they burn books, they will also, in the end, burn human beings.

~ Heinrich Heine

_Later that night_

"Hermann?"

"Kopa? What are you doing up and about at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep. Vitani snores, and she hogs all the blankets too."

"She's probably just enjoying having someplace to sleep that isn't a rock or a tree stump. Don't forget, she's had it pretty rough until yesterday, and I can't imagine what it would be like to know your own mother is—"

"I know, I know."

"For the record, I can't get to sleep either, probably on account of having slept quite well already. I can't believe I fell for my own joke…we'll have to keep the sleeping pills hidden from now on. That being said, there are worse places to be besides here when one can't get to sleep. We never get a night sky like this in Stuttgart; all you can see is the light from buildings and highways. But here, it's just stars as far as you can see, _alle stille._"

"Yeah, just so you know, that whole sleeping pill thing was Markos's idea, not mine. He thought it was hilarious."

"I'm sure all three of you did."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, just keep your voice down so the others don't wake up. What's on your mind?"

"Why did you and Markos help me? All I've ever heard since before you came here was that people are bad."

"It's true, there are bad people out there, just like there are bad lions out there, but there are good ones as well. Markos and I aren't bad, are we?"

"No, I really like you."

"What was it exactly that you heard?"

"All kinds of things…that people are evil; that they kill each other all the time, destroy whatever they come across and can't be good no matter how nice they seem at first. Is that really true?"

"No. There are just as many good people as there are bad people, probably more, and thinking like that never does anyone any good. I'm going to tell you something rather serious, but something I think you ought to know regardless. You remember the name of the country I come from, right?"

"Germany?"

"Yes, Germany. And in Germany, not terribly long ago, but still many years before you were born, a horrible man was running the government. He thought that certain kinds of people—people who had foreign ancestry, differently-colored skin, or spoke another language—were all but poisonous…that they did nothing but pollute humankind and drag society down. Of course, such was not at all the case, and it never has been, but like whoever was telling you about humans said, this man was determined to believe that those people 'couldn't be good no matter how nice they seemed at first'. Do you have any idea of what happened to all the people he didn't like?"

"I don't know…were they sent out of Germany?"

"No, Kopa, they were murdered. Ten million of them in all…were murdered. Women, men, children alike, entire families at once; this man did not care in the least about what he was doing, never mind that it made absolutely no sense. He had no conscience, no capacity for sympathy or emotion other than pure, unfettered hate for those who were not like himself. Even something as simple as a last name could have spelled death for someone in those days, and in many cases, it did."

"What…kind of last name?"

"Well, for starters, 'Sterlitz'."

"But 'Sterlitz', that's, aren't you…"

"Yes, of course. As you might remember, my father's middle name is Dietrich, which comes from his grandfather, Dietrich Sterlitz. Markos's middle name, Wilhelm, was the first name of his great-grandfather, Wilhelm Schreiber. Unfortunately, neither of those men survived to see their births of their own sons or grandchildren."

"You mean that they were—"

"Murdered. Yes."

"But what did they ever do to deserve that?"

"_Nothing_; they didn't do anything. They committed no crimes, had no enemies and worked hard their entire lives to provide for their families and for others who were close to them. Their only 'crime', along with ten million others who ultimately shared their fate, was being slightly different from everyone else, and the bad man couldn't stand that. You see where I'm going with all this?"

"I think so. I guess you shouldn't—"

"You shouldn't pass judgment on someone until you know for sure what they're like, even if it's easier to assume first and ask questions later. When Vitani showed up here for the first time, for example, I was ready to turn her away because she was related to Zira. I thought that since she was Zira's daughter, that relation automatically made her a threat as well…but I was wrong. Completely wrong. It's something I doubt I'll ever forgive myself for, given that I of all people should know better than to think like that in the first place. At best, that kind of thinking costs you your friends, and at worst, it costs others their dignity, their self-worth… even their lives."

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to offend you. And I'm sorry about what happened to your family."

"It's OK, you didn't know any better, but now you do. If you learn nothing else from my being here, I want you to remember this: such a terrible thing as that which happened in Germany—an event so awful that the country and its people are still struggling today to shake off the stigma—such a thing must never be permitted to happen again."

"You know, my mom once told me that when we die, we leave our bodies and go up to where all those stars are. She said that they can still see us, even though they've passed on. Maybe…maybe Dietrich is up there too."

"Perhaps he is, Kopa. Perhaps he is."


	14. Eine kleine Zielschiessen

AN: yes, the title is a pun on Mozart's _Eine kleine Nachtmusik_, "A little night music". _Zielschiessen_ means "target practice".

**VIERZEHN**

_**Eien kleine Zielschiessen**_

"_Feuer!"_

_Bang_

"Did he hit that rock this time?" Kopa asked Vitani. Markos had just fired another round from his rifle, while Hermann stood by and tried to see where the shots wound up.

"No, I don't even think the bullet landed in the same country," Vitani replied. Down below where the cubs were sitting and watching, Hermann and Markos were busy yelling at each other in German:

"Hermann, there's got to be something wrong with this rifle! I've only hit one target in ten tries!" Hermann grabbed the gun out of Markos's hands, quickly put it to his shoulder, and pulled the trigger almost immediately after. The rock Markos had been aiming at broke cleanly in two.

"No, as I said before, there's nothing…_bang_…wrong…_bang_…with the gun." Hermann couldn't resist taking out two even smaller rocks as he lectured his friend, shooting off perfectly-placed rounds all the while.

"Give me that thing back! How about telling me what I need to do, instead of showing me how well _you_ can shoot?"

"OK, OK, try it again. That black stone over there is your target." Markos reloaded, raised the rifle and squeezed one eye shut. "Now before you shoot, what do you see?"

"I see the rock…and the sights."

"And the sights are lined up correctly, right? The front sight is in the middle of the rear sight?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good, now put the top of the front sight right in the middle of that rock, and when everything is where it should be, take the shot."

A few seconds of silence passed before the report of another gunshot rang out. When the echo died away and the dust clouds cleared, Hermann could see that Markos had put the shot on target.

"Well done," he said, taking the rifle back. "Do you think you can remember all that for when it counts?"

"I think so," Markos replied, "but I'll be counting on you as well. Let's head back, maybe they've brought in something tasty. That antelope we had the other night wasn't bad at all, maybe we could improvise a grill or something."

"Sorry, Markos, we're fresh out of antelopes…_except_ for that one standing over there." Hermann already had the stock pressed into his shoulder.

"_That _antelope? It has to be 300 yards away; you couldn't hit that thing with an artillery shell."

Hermann took no notice of his friend's comments, and deftly dropped the antelope where it stood. "Start grilling, Schreiber," he said, walking away nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. "And the next time I prove you so wonderfully and fantastically wrong, you get to run naked sprints for five minutes to the pond and back."


	15. Wehmut

**FÜNFZEHN**

_**Wehmut **_

_A few days later_

"_Hermann, wake up! For God's sake, wake up!"_

Hermann sleepily opened his eyes and saw Markos standing next to him. "What is it?" he asked.

"Stuttgart's been hit. They've shut down German airspace and suspended all traffic in and out of the country."

"What do you mean, 'Stuttgart's been hit'? By what?" Markos said nothing and handed his friend a Kenyan newspaper clipping in English. It was dated from two days after Hermann and Markos's arrival in Kenya.

"Europe's worst fears of an impending terrorist attack were realized yesterday in the German city of Stuttgart, where a package bomb exploded at 3:15 pm," Hermann read, "killing seven and injuring twelve more. German authorities suspect the explosives were flown into the country on an international flight from the Middle East, but have not been able to pinpoint the exact origin. An affiliate of al-Qaeda has taken responsibility for the attack, which was carried out at Stuttgart's Olga Hospital. Among the victims of the explosion was Doctor Friedrich Ross, the hospital's chief of…_No!"_

Markos didn't quite know all the details of the attack, and asked Hermann to fill him in. "The bastards hit the hospital," he said with a quiver in his voice. "They got a letter bomb inside and blew it up in the main office."

"_And?_" Markos asked, knowing there was something more that Hermann wasn't telling him.

"And…it killed Herr Friedrich!" Hermann felt like he was going to vomit. Ever since his first day of medical school, Friedrich Ross had been like a second father to him. He had taught Hermann almost everything he knew, shared in his passion for classical music, and had been responsible for both arranging the trip to Kenya and getting Hermann accepted into the hospital's residency program…and now he was dead, a man who had dedicated his life to helping other people, killed by a terrorist's mail bomb.

Nala had heard Hermann's reaction to the news article from outside, and came running in asking what had happened. Hermann could only manage a few words, but Nala could tell what had happened, even though she didn't exactly know what a letter bomb was. She was going to try and say something, but before she could, Hermann rose unsteadily to his feet and made off as fast as he could for outside, trying to hide his face from everyone. Nala tried to follow him, but was met with the angriest glare she had ever seen in her life.

"_Lass mich in Frieden!" _Hermann kept walking toward the exit, not even bothering to translate "leave me alone" into English.

"Hermann, wait, at least talk to me in…"

"_Nein! Hau ab! Lass mich in Frieden!" _Markos put a hand on Nala's shoulder as Hermann stormed outside, nearly falling down twice as he did so.

"_Warten. _Wait. Don't…follow him," he told her in what English he could muster. "Not now." Both could still hear Hermann yelling things in German from outside.

Hermann didn't stop walking until he reached the same pond where he had gone swimming a few days ago. In his haste to get away, he had already fallen once, scraping his hands and knees, but he didn't care in the least. All he could think about was the hospital back home, the front desk blown to bits with Friedrich Ross's body lying in a heap nearby. He threw his cane off into a stand of reeds and glared up at the sky, speaking as if someone above could hear him.

"_What's the deal here? What the hell did he do to deserve a death like that? Blown to bits by some terrorist's letter bomb…is that the best you can do for a man who might as well have been my father? You worthless, no-good son-of-a-bitch, why can't I get a break? First it was my great-grandfather in the Holocaust, and now Herr Friedrich's dead too?" _He heard the echo bounce off a few distant rocks before dying away, and sat down heavily on a log, holding his head in his hands. _That was the last time I got to see him_, Hermann thought, thinking back to his last day in Germany before he had left for Africa. _When I said 'goodbye' that afternoon, it wasn't supposed to be permanent!"_

Hermann sat by the pond for hours, his mind a whirlwind, alternating between grief, confusion, and outright rage. He didn't want to go back home, and wished the airspace over Germany would remain closed forever, that the border blockades would never be lifted so that he wouldn't ever have to step inside the city limits of Stuttgart again. All the name 'Stuttgart' meant to him now was death…a hospital destroyed, an old friend killed. Hermann could find no good reason for Friedrich Ross's death, as there was none, and he knew there would be no way of getting back at the person ultimately responsible for killing his mentor. _I'll never go back_, he thought. _I'll go anywhere…Munich, Berlin, Hannover, even someplace outside Germany…but not Stuttgart._

Even though Hermann didn't know it, Nala had been watching him almost the entire time, not interested in following Markos's instruction to leave Hermann completely alone. She decided that this was as good a time as any to try and get through to the man who had saved her son's life, and carefully stepped out from behind a thicket of grass. "_Bist Du…was willst?_" Hermann snapped as soon as he saw her. He wasn't trying to sound the way he did, but he couldn't help himself; the morning's news had turned him into someone even he didn't recognize.

"Please, Hermann, stop speaking in German. I can't do anything for you if I can't understand you."

"And what _would_ you do? There's nothing anyone can do about anything now, you can't reverse death."

"He was a good friend to you?"

"Friedrich Johann Ross…he wasn't just a good friend. He was like a father to me. Everything that I've become is because of his efforts; everything that I know, he taught me from my first days in Stuttgart." Hermann spat out the last word as if it were poisonous; even the sound of that city's name was enough to make him feel ill. "I'm never going back there," he added, "not after what just happened. I can't stand to see it again."

"Hermann, staying away won't change what's happened. Stuttgart is still your home; I've heard you talk about how much you—"

"_Nothing _will change what's happened! He's dead, OK? If we could bring the dead back to life, I wouldn't have a job, for starters. And as far as I'm concerned, I've left that city for good. "

Nala let the ensuing silence linger for a few minutes, deciding to stay well away from the ground she had already covered. "I'm sorry for what's happened," she said sympathetically. "I know I won't be able to bring Friedrich back, but I do know what it's like to lose a good friend. I'm sure…he would be very proud of you, if he could see all you've done here."

"Proud of me for what? I'm no different than any other person with a medical degree and a lab coat. Doctor Ross was ten times the man I'll ever be, professionally or otherwise."

"Maybe not, but _you _saved my Kopa's life when he was on the brink of death, not anyone else. If I'm not mistaken, it was Friedrich who arranged this trip for you, right?" Hermann nodded his head. "Then more than one of us owes him a debt too great to be repaid. It might not have been intentional, but his sending you here was the reason Kopa is alive today. Hermann…do you have any idea how much Kopa looks up to you? All my son talks about these days is leaning to speak your language, about how much he wants to see Stuttgart and learn more of those little songs you taught him when he was afraid and in so much pain."

"Lieder… they're called Lieder," Hermann said with a faint grin.

"Whatever you call them, if you hadn't taught those songs to Kopa, I'm not sure he would have been able to get through everything the way he has. And even though he's on the road to bouncing back, he's still far from back to normal; it's only been a week or so since the attack. Kopa still needs you around to take care of him, songs and all, and so do I. We all do. If everything you do reflects on what Doctor Ross taught you, as you've already said it does, you can't turn and run now."

There was a pause of a few seconds, after which Nala added, "He must have been an incredible person, to have someone like you to his credit. He must have taught you very well." Hermann smiled a weak smile. "Let's go home," Nala said. "They'll want to know what's happened."

_Shortly thereafter_

Hermann stood next to Markos, addressing the entire pride. "For all those who died in Germany as a result of this attack, we pledge to carry on—" Hermann turned and looked over at Kopa, "—in their names, and to do as they would have done. The city of Stuttgart, which will surely recover from this unprovoked attack of terror, will not be the same without them."

Hermann walked over to where he had hung the German flag over the entrance to the cave, and pulled it down. He then tied it to a long stake, which he stuck in the ground where everyone could see it. He took the newspaper clipping from out of his pocket and began to read off the names of the dead.

"Richard König. Elise Wagner. Johann Bauer. Andreas Hahn. Wilhelm Schneider. Marie Ackermann…"

He paused for a few seconds, a lone tear streaking down his cheek, before reading the last name.

"And Friedrich Ross. In their honor, and in support of our countrymen and fellow citizens, we dedicate and fly this flag here from now on." Markos spoke a few lines of Heine, and then he and Hermann walked silently back inside. Kopa and Vitani followed them, but most simply stood where they were, watching the red, yellow and black flag blowing in the breeze.

_That night_

Hermann was back at the hospital, wearing a white coat with "H.W_. _Sterlitz" neatly embroidered in italics above the breast pocket. He saw the mailman walk through the main door and hand off a pile of letters and a small brown package to the receptionist, who then turned around and carried everything over to the office. Hermann tried to stop her from taking the mail, but his legs turned to rubber, unable to carry him forward even one step. _"It's a bomb!" _he screamed out, but nobody could hear him, or even see that he was there. As Friedrich Ross rounded a corner with a chart in his hand, he looked over at the paper-wrapped box which was now sitting on the table and picked it up.

"_Herr Friedrich, run! It's a bomb!"_

A deafening explosion ripped through the room, blowing him out a window and sending him falling ten stories toward the ground below.

Hermann woke up in a cold sweat before he hit the pavement, gasping as if he were being choked in his sleep. He threw off the covers, sat up and frantically looked around, but there was no hospital, no charts, no doctors, no exploding letter bombs…just himself, Markos, and a bunch of sleeping lions. Nala, Kopa and Vitani were curled up in a corner, the latter two tucked securely inside the sleeping bag; Hermann on the other hand, couldn't help feeling cold and alone as he listened to the rain coming down outside, occasionally broken by a distant thunderclap or flash of lightning. He lay back down and stared at the ceiling, but heard another voice speak to him before he could think of anything.

"I guess I'm not the only one who can't sleep tonight." Hermann recognized the voice as belonging to Markos.

"I just can't stop thinking about what happened," Hermann said without looking at his friend. "Did you check on Kopa, by the way?"

"He's fine, Hermann. I've never seen anyone sleep as well as he does, especially when you're the one who tucks him in for the night. You know, I've been thinking—"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Very funny. Maybe Friedrich sent us here because he knew that somehow, somewhere, we'd be needed. Maybe he knew that someone like Kopa would need someone like you to take care of him."

"Herr Friedrich sent us here because we were both due for a vacation, for that reason and nothing more," Hermann said matter-of-factly, unable to speak his dead mentor's name without adding the honorific before it. "But I will say that this much is for certain: when he bought us those airline tickets, he saved our lives. Our shifts lined up—we would have been in that same exact room when the bomb went off—and that's what I can't get out of my mind…that we're supposed to be dead."

Markos shook his head. "No, Sterlitz, we're not. At least, you're not. Look over there, what do you see?"

"A brave little lion cub named Kopa, wearing a German football jersey."

"OK, fair enough, but I see a brave little lion cub named Kopa _that you saved_, not just any old lion cub running around the plains out here. Let me tell you something…none of what you've done for him, not even the smallest fraction, could have happened if you were truly supposed to die that day in Stuttgart. Every breath that Kopa takes, everything he sees, every moment of happiness that he has and will have for the rest of his life is now thanks to you, because you were here. Alive. Because you weren't in that room when the bomb exploded. You're not 'supposed to be dead', Hermann; you're supposed to be right where you are."

Hermann thought for a moment. "Then you're not supposed to be dead either, seeing as there's no way I could have done any of this without your help. Even if you can't sing the alphabet and stay on key."

"That's OK, you walk like an eighty-year-old man, so we balance out well enough. Let's try and get back to sleep; there's no sense in staying up all night. Friedrich wouldn't want us agonizing over him anyways."

"Right, good night then. Oh, Markos?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Hermann heard his friend walk back over to his side of the cave. He lay down once again, looking up at the rocks above him. The sound of snoring a few minutes later told him that Markos had fallen asleep, and the lack of any other noise meant that their conversation had luckily not disturbed anyone else.

_I owe you everything, Herr Friedrich. Kopa's life, my life, Markos's life…and even that isn't the half of it. If there were some way to repay you only for that much, I would still be in your debt without possibility of paying it all back. Maybe one day I'll be the kind of man you were; until then, I'll just have to make do with aspiring to be like you. I didn't want our last conversation to be our last ever, but I suppose I must accept the way things are as the way things are. I will miss you terribly, along with everyone else, and promise to never forget who you were and what you did for all of us. Farewell, _Lebe wohl, mein Herr_. And thank you._


	16. Ich grolle nicht

AN: I originally planned to post both halves of this story when each was completed. I will now update this one story as chapters are finalized instead. The following chapter contains descriptions of World War II scenes. Discretion advised.

**SECHZEHN**

_**Ich grolle nicht**_

**June, 1943**

**Auschwitz-Birkenau**

A thin, gray-haired man stepped off a train car along with several hundred others. Affixed to the front of his gray shirt was a yellow six-pointed star, the same star that could be seen on at least half of the men and women who were now disembarking and walking toward a large brick building. The man had heard about this place before—he had heard people in the street refer to it as "the gates of hell", the kind of place where an exit isn't necessary, as nobody ever leaves once they go in—but he never thought he would actually wind up there. To Dietrich Sterlitz, the realities of what was happening around him over the past few years never sunk in until it was far too late. By the time he realized the horrible extent of all that had taken place, he was already being forced onto a train by a man with a gun and red-and-black armband.

As he sullenly walked toward the building in front of him, taking his place in a long line of men, Dietrich felt as if he were dying with every step. All around him were barbed-wire fences, men with rifles, windblown smoke and the stench of death and decay. The very people who populated this place seemed to be walking corpses; they had no facial expressions of any kind, no light behind their eyes or hope in their hearts. Even as a fresh plume of black smoke rose from a massive chimney, signaling the demise of the latest group of victims, those who could see the smoke took no notice. In their minds, they were already dead, already burning. They had come from all over Europe to this place, and represented every walk of life imaginable—businessmen, musicians, priests and rabbis, rich and poor, from Europe's North, South, East and West—but their reason for being here was horribly singular. If all went according to plan, the gate they had all walked through, crudely ornamented with the words _ARBEIT MACHT FREI_, would be a permanent one-way door. Dietrich occasionally heard the others speak about what was going to happened to them, and how it really wasn't as bad as he heard it would be. It was just a temporary holding facility, they said; in a few weeks, everyone would be relocated somewhere else, somewhere that didn't have two-front war on its hands and bombs falling out of the sky every five minutes. The rooms where huge numbers of people were executed every hour on the hour weren't really gas chambers, but shower rooms instead; this whole place was a "work camp"; the smoke was coming from the kitchen, not the crematoria. Dietrich Sterlitz never believed a word of it. He saw no use deluding himself, as he knew exactly what awaited him on the other side.

As he took one final look at the outside world, a desolate landscape covered in overcast cloud and wisps of acrid smoke, he saw something which temporarily stopped him in his tracks. He had caught the gaze of a soldier, a boy no older than eighteen, standing guard at another doorway. Like the other guards, he was wearing a red armband and carried a loaded Kar-98, but unlike the others, his cheeks were wet from an endless flow of tears, and the whites of his eyes had turned scarlet red. For a moment, condemner and condemned looked each other in the eye, and spoke words which neither would ever forget.

"Please…" the youngster said as he dropped down onto one knee and bowed his head, not caring in the least about what would happen if another guard saw him. "Forgive me!"

"I forgive you, child. I forgive you." With that, the last words he would ever speak, Dietrich Sterlitz walked through the door and left the world forever.

**Present time**

**Kenya**

Hermann had never thought much about his great-grandfather. He did not know the specifics of Dietrich Sterlitz's death; all he knew was that in 1943, he had been murdered along with millions of others in the concentration camps. Dietrich was an afterthought more often than not: as he had died several decades before Hermann's birth, and neither Hermann's father nor his grandfather had ever known him personally, most of what Hermann knew was based on years-old anecdotes of debatable veracity. Now, however, everything seemed quite different. As he paced back and forth in front of the cave, still trying to shake the images of his mentor's death out of his mind, Hermann couldn't help being drawn back to manufactured memories of a man he had never known. Thanks mostly to his little conversation with Markos, he could _accept_ the fact that Friedrich Ross had died, but coming to terms with such a state of affairs was another matter entirely.

Hermann had never really intended to go off on such a morbid tangent that night when he and Kopa couldn't seem to get to sleep. In the trauma ward at Stuttgart, he had said many things to young patients in recovery, but how his family had suffered at the hands of a genocidal maniac was never among them. To him, there was nothing illogical about omitting that particular piece of personal history should a patient ask about who he was and what he did; after all, in an environment where positive thinking and outlook was all but required, most patients would probably not benefit from hearing it. Then again, none of his patients back in Germany had been Kopa. As much as he always tried to avoid the subject, Dietrich's story had jumped right to the front of his mind as soon as he heard Kopa talking about "bad people" that night, as if it had been waiting all along for a chance to be told. More than that, though, it was the similarities between Dietrich Sterlitz and Friedrich Ross that kept Hermann up at night…not in how they lived, but in how they had died. He told himself that everything would resolve itself in due time, that the grisly thoughts and images would fade away just as they had come, but never really believed such a statement to be true. And so it was that only a few nights after he had first brought up the matter of Dietrich Sterlitz under the star-covered African sky, Hermann found himself standing on the same rock, looking up at the same sky and the same stars, desperately in search of answers. Like that first night, he thought himself alone, but in yet another similarity, he wasn't correct in his thinking this time either.

"I know what's wrong with you, Hermann." It was Kopa, who had crept up behind him as he stood, oblivious, gazing at the stars. "It's Friedrich, isn't it? Mom told me what happened back in Germany."

"Herr Friedrich is only part of it," Hermann replied. "Besides, it's nothing a cub such as you need worry himself with. You have to focus on getting better; I'll focus on myself."

"But I can't get better unless you're better…and you're not. I know I'm not a doctor…"

"No, you're not."

"But I can still see something's wrong. Just tell me, I won't let anyone else know. When I'm sad, I always talk to someone."

"_Wie du möchtest_," Hermann said with a heavy sigh. "As you wish. You remember what I told you about my great-grandfather, right?"

"Of course I remember. He was killed, and so was Markos's great-grandfather."

"Right…and you obviously know what happened last week, how my boss at the hospital was killed as well."

"Mom told me he died in an explosion. Is that right?"

"Technically, yes, but it wasn't an accident. The explosion came from a bomb…someone sent it to the hospital with the express intent of blowing it up and killing people. And that's what I can't stop thinking about: Dietrich Sterlitz, Friedrich Ross…both of them died too early, for no reason whatsoever, because another insane person decided to kill them. The other night, you said that there weren't any good people on this Earth; I told you otherwise, thinking that such a thought didn't make a bit of sense. But now I can see exactly where you were coming from. Of all the species on this planet, we're the only ones who would ever mail bombs to each others' houses, or murder millions at once in extermination camps. Every time something like this happens, I find myself losing more and more of my faith in humanity; I wonder just how far we're going to go before someone finally speaks up."

Kopa realized this discussion was getting far beyond his scope of knowledge—due to his youth, he was rather ill-equipped to speak about human nature and all its philosophical implications—but he was still determined regardless to help in some way. "You know," he said after thinking things over for a moment and deciding on the best approach to take, "sometimes when it's really late at night and everyone's asleep, I come out here and think about my grandparents. I didn't know them, just like you didn't know Dietrich; my grandfather died early as well. But every once and a while, I'll talk to them just the same. Why don't you try it?"

"Try what?"

"Talk to Dietrich. Tell him what's bothering you. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"OK," Hermann said halfheartedly, not sure if he was talking to Kopa or to a psychiatrist disguised as a lion cub. _This is crazy, _he thought once Kopa had gone back inside. _I'm about to have the world's most ridiculous dialogue…with myself. _But then he convinced himself to put his cynicism aside, if only temporarily—if he really was about to make a fool of himself, there was nobody else around to see the spectacle take place. What harm could it possibly do?

_Dietrich? Herr Friedrich? You there? _

When Hermann came walking back inside, his expression had changed from pensive to content. "So, was he there?" Kopa whispered, not wanting to wake anyone up.

"I don't know," Hermann said. "But regardless, I thought some things over, and I think I understand better now. I just needed someone to remind me that there's good in this world along with the bad…and I have you to thank for it. _Danke vielmals_."

"No, I should be thanking you. You saved my life, after all."

"In a way, you saved mine as well. If I hadn't been here, there's a good chance I would have died too."

"I know. I heard you say that to Markos the other night."

"You understood that much German?"

"Bits and pieces, yes. Are you as cold as I am?"

"I'm a little chilly, but…_mein Gott_, Kopa, you're shaking like a leaf! Let's get you to bed and warmed up, you shouldn't be getting that cold, and neither should I. It doesn't help my leg, that's for certain. Get into my sleeping bag and I'll be there in a second; you should stay with me tonight. We both need all the extra heat we can get."

Kopa walked over to where Hermann had laid out his things; Hermann went over to the suitcase and pulled out an extra blanket. He had never thought he'd need it in Africa of all places, and didn't quite remember how it had found its way into the suitcase to begin with, but he was glad nevertheless that it was there.

"Are you going to have to give me that shot again?" Kopa asked while Hermann still had his back turned. "I don't hurt that much…I don't think I need it anymore."

"Yes, but it won't be what you think it is," Hermann said as he walked back over to Kopa and sat down beside him. Just an antibiotic this time; no burn to it whatsoever. I doubt you'll even feel anything to begin with."

"OK, but can I still hold your hand?"

"If you want to, of course you can, but seeing as I've already done it, I'm not sure you'll want to now."

"Wait, what? That's impossible; how did you do it that fast? I saw your hands the whole time, and they didn't even move!"

"Correction, you saw _one _of my hands. What you _didn't_ see was what I had hidden in the other one." Hermann flashed a wide, toothy grin, unashamedly proud of himself. Kopa, for his part, couldn't help switching back and forth between surprise and relief. Not only hadn't he felt a thing; more important than that, he knew he had his friend back, the real Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz—wisecracks and all—whom he had known was there all along.

"Hermann?" Kopa said once both were settled in for the night, clad in their matching German soccer jerseys and wedged under as many heavy layers as Hermann had been able to find.

"_Ja?_"

"_Anfangs wollt ich fast verzagen…"_

_I should have known this was coming_, Hermann thought with a smile before taking up the second verse: "_Und ich glaubt ich trüg es nie," _

"_Und ich hab es doch getragen,"_

"_Aber fragt mich nur nicht, wie?"_

"_Nicht, wie?"_


	17. Der Wiedersehen

**ACHTZEHN**

_**Der Wiedersehen**_

That night, for the first time since learning of the bombing, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD slept without being awakened by nightmares or persistent lingering thoughts. Even though an electrical storm rolled through overnight, making itself quite noticeable in the process, Hermann was unbothered, as indifferent to and unaware of this and any other disturbances as a man in a soundproof box. By morning, he and Kopa had woken up along with everyone else, leaving Markos asleep inside.

Markos was in the middle of a dream when he suddenly felt someone nudging him awake. "_Hermann, hör auf damit!" _he mumbled, not wanting any part of whatever mischief he thought was planned for him. However, this half-asleep "knock it off" was not understood in the least, as the one responsible for the constant side-nudging was not Hermann, and moreover, he didn't speak a word of German.

"_Es ist mir ernst damit_," Markos said in a crosser tone of voice before sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "_I mean it, stop bothering me!"_

"What?" replied a huge and unfamiliar lion sitting in front of him.

_Hermann doesn't speak English if he's talking to me,_ Markos thought as he timidly looked up in the voice's direction and saw what was sitting there waiting for him. "_Wer bist? Was willst?_" Markos said in panic as he stared, frozen in place, at the newcomer. "What...do you…want?" He started looking around for someone else, but found himself quite alone and, more importantly, unarmed.

"_Achtung! ACHTUNG!" _he shouted, still trying unsuccessfully to find a way out.

"Hey, calm down!" the lion said, not recognizing the scope of the language barrier between himself and the human he was speaking to. "I'm not going to eat you or anything; I just wanted to—

"_AAAACHTUUUUUNG!"_

"Who's 'Achtung'?"

Hermann, having heard his friend's frenzied shouts, came running inside as fast as he could, stopping only for a second to grab his rifle and a few shells. He saw what appeared to be Markos pinned down in a corner by an unfamiliar lion, and decided to leave nothing to chance. "State your business here!" he said, snapping the bolt closed but keeping the muzzle pointed towards the ground. "And don't play any games with me!"

"Well, well, it's nice to meet you too…_Hermann_," the lion answered back with a laugh, knowing he wasn't in any real danger. He had seen the rifle Hermann was carrying with him, and could tell from the empty chamber that there was nothing in it.

"I said don't play any…wait, what?"

"That _is _your name, isn't it? Or are you Markos and that one's Hermann?"

Before either man could clarify who was who, Kopa barged in, half at a walk, half at a jog and still favoring one side a bit (much to Hermann's dismay, and to Markos's delight when he heard the words translated into German, he had come up with an unequivocally straightforward and descriptive name for this rather odd gait: his 'Hermann walk', which he broke into whenever a slow step wasn't quite fast enough). "Dad!" he shouted as he trotted along towards the newcomer and wrapped his paws around his neck, "you're home early!"

"Kopa…you're OK, thank goodness!" the other lion replied. "Of course I'm back early; I started for home as soon as I heard! I was…what's that you've got on?"

"It's a football shirt; who was it that-

"_Warten, warten, warten_…time out!" Hermann said before anyone could go any further. "First off, you're his father? And secondly…actually, there's nothing secondly. How come you weren't here to begin with?"

"Yes, I am his father, and I wasn't here because I had to be somewhere else for a yearly meeting of sorts. Anything else?" He was still smiling, even though he could tell Hermann didn't quite believe everything he said.

"What kind of meeting?"

"It's an annual gathering of all the rulers of all the prides around here. That's where I was when I heard about what happened, and I came back as soon as I could, but it's a day and a half's journey from there to here. I wasn't told about the attack until two days ago; if I'd known sooner, I would have returned sooner, but it seems word just doesn't travel as fast as it used to."

Hermann swallowed hard, realizing now that he was talking to someone rather high in rank. "A rulers' meeting…does that mean you're the ruler here?" _Keep calm, and stay in English_, he thought, not wanting to suddenly start blurting out words nobody but he would understand.

"You could say that…yes, I'm the king. You can just call me 'Simba' though, there's no need for formalities."

"_Der König?" _Hermann gasped, unable to help the switch into German._"_Um…uh…_Freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen, Euer Majestät._"

"Sorry, what? Are you speaking another language?"

"He said 'it's a pleasure to meet you'," Kopa explained. "That was German. I even know a few words now! Listen…_ich heisse Kopa, und ich bin ein Löwe. _How was that, Hermann?"

"Perfect, as usual. _Sehr gut._" Hermann turned to Simba and, in the most elegant tone of voice he could muster, said, "Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz and Markos Wilhelm Schreiber, MDs, Universität Stuttgart, Federal Republic of Germany. Sorry about the language thing; it's just a bad habit of mine, switching back and forth and such. And please forgive us for reacting the way we did…if I had known who you were…"

"Think nothing of it. I should have known better than to just show up unannounced."

"Yeah, we still aren't exactly used to seeing you guys first thing in the morning, no offense intended."

"None taken. Come, walk with me, I want to know everything."

_Later_

As Simba and Hermann walked together through the plains, with Kopa and Vitani trailing along behind, the pride's ruler couldn't help but notice Hermann's odd, three-beat step and wonder if he was in some sort of pain. "I'm sorry, I have to ask," he said, "are you OK?"

"What do you mean by that?" Hermann asked, so used to walking lopsidedly that it seemed normal to him.

"Your right leg; is there something wrong with it?"

"Oh, that? That's…"

"He snapped it in half in two places!" Kopa piped up from the rear, causing Hermann to smile and roll his eyes.

"Don't worry, it's fixed for the most part," Hermann said in response to Simba, "but yes, I did break it, and so I have to walk with this cane. It happened years ago, not while I was here if that's what was worrying you."

"Good, I'm glad. So, give it to me straight…how bad was he?"

"The worst I've ever seen in my career," Hermann said flatly, trying to keep his voice down. "Lacerations and puncture wounds to almost every area of his body, coupled with blood loss and blunt trauma. He could barely move for a week or so without painkillers."

"What does that all mean?"

"It means it _huuu-uurt!" _Kopa interrupted again. "But it's getting better now!"

"What he said," Hermann continued. "But we've got him on the uptick now, and he'll be mended as long as he takes things slowly and doesn't get ahead of himself. Frankly, I think my leg's giving me more trouble than his injuries are giving him right now." When he looked back at Simba, he saw that there were tears in his eyes. "_Mein Herr, was ist? _What's wrong?"

"This was my fault," Simba replied. "If I had been here, this would have never happened. Every time I think of how afraid he must have been…how much pain he's been in, it's…"

"This was _not_ your fault, believe me. And Kopa made it through the worst part just fine. He's the bravest patient I've ever seen…and excepting that one time I had the Vienna Philharmonic's assistant conductor as a patient during rounds, the most musical as well."

"Dad? Why are you crying?" Kopa asked, having walked over and seen his father's sad state. "What's the matter?"

"I'm just…nothing. I'm so glad you're alive; I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you." Simba placed a paw on Kopa's side and tried to pull him closer, but he accidentally hit one of Kopa's sore spots.

"_Ow!" _Kopa exclaimed as he drew back. "Careful! That's my bad side!" He tried to get his legs back under him, treading on Hermann's right ankle in the process.

"_Ach! _Watch it, Kopa, are you trying to cripple me even more?" Now both of them were hopping around trying to regain their balance, and two became three when an errant foot from Hermann landed squarely on top of Simba's left front paw. All Hermann could do was brace for impact and fall with a muttered oath into a small bush. When he sat up and unsteadily rose to his feet, covered in a combination of burrs and mud, he saw that Kopa and Simba were no longer upset. _Ah, Schadenfreude_, he thought, _if only there were someone besides myself on the wrong end of it from time to time. _"Come on, you two, quit laughing at me for two seconds and help get these stupid burrs out of my shirt."

_Shortly thereafter_

"So what is it exactly that you do?" Simba asked Hermann as they turned for home, making their way back toward the rocks.

"Well, I'm a doctor, in a Stuttgart hospital," Hermann replied, trying not to think of everything that had happened there while he was gone. "I don't mean to digress, but I can't help mentioning that it's rather incredible what's happened here; not only has your son made an almost-impossible recovery, but he's also picking up German…and music theory. I never thought I'd ever see that with a patient, not in a thousand years."

"From what I've heard, you're more than just a good doctor; you could shoot a pebble of my head with a blindfold on."

"That's not entirely true…but yes, we've been practicing with rifles. If you-know-who comes back, I don't want to miss my one shot. Of course, how we deal with her ultimately rests with you, not me."

"Actually, it rests with the Deputy Chiefs of Security."

"And who holds that title here?"

"As of this morning, you and Markos do. You're the crack shot, not me."

"But you…you're the king! _Der König_! Why would you leave something that important to me?"

"Because being the king doesn't mean I know how to do everything, and I can't shoot a gun, for starters. When they come back, and they will come back, we will send them a message, but we can only do so with your help."

Hermann thought for a while as he walked along, following Simba back towards the rocks. He knew he didn't have much of a choice in the matter, as to turn and run now was as good as leaving Kopa for dead. "You know they'll have the odds in their favor," he said, noticeably pessimistic. "If they show up, the advantage lies with them, not with us, even if everything works perfectly. But regardless, I accept, and I will let my friend know as well; perhaps we can turn the tide after all. There's just one condition."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you won't ever blame yourself for what happened here again. One, it wasn't your doing, and two, I'm not going to fall into any more pricker bushes just to give you guys another laugh."

"Consider it done. By the way, is it true that Vitani's now staying with us?"

"Yes, her and Markos go together like two misbehaving peas in a pod. She's got nowhere else to go; I couldn't turn her away."

"No, you made the right call. Oh, and Kopa tells me you're a singer. You'll give us a performance before you leave, won't you?"

"A concert? Me? Uh…OK, if you insist." Hermann hoisted himself up the rocks and made for the cave. "I'm going to get a fire started for our dinner; I'll join you all in a bit. _Auf bald!_"

"_Auf bald, Hermann_," Kopa replied back, walking off to find his mother. Simba felt another tear making its way down his cheek as he watched Kopa walk off and around the corner. He knew that someday soon, he would have to deal with Zira, but for now, nothing, not even an impending threat of war, could take the joy of seeing his son alive and happy away from him. Come nighttime, he would sleep well, the best he had slept in days, with Kopa tucked securely but gently into the crook of his front leg. Hermann and Markos discovered entire new musical notes with their snoring in one corner; in the other, Vitani was curled up with Nala, discovering what it was like to finally have a family and someone to call her mother, even if there was no direct relation. For the first time in over a week, no songs, poems or comforting words were recited inside—neither in German nor in English—not because they had been forgotten, but because they were simply not needed.


	18. Der Faktotum

AN: typos fixed in Chapter fifteen (_Wehmut_)!

_Largo al Factotum, _mentioned herein, is better known as the "Figaro Figaro Figaro (repeat _ad nauseum_)" song.

**NEUNZEHN**

_**Der Faktotum**_

"Vitani, we know you're hiding in there…just come out and let Hermann look at it! It's his _job_; he's not going to do anything wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with it…I'm fine!"

"What do you want me to look at?" Hermann asked Nala.

"Oh, she stepped on a thorn or something, and she won't let any of us look at her paw. She's practically walking like you."

"I've got an idea," Hermann said with a wry grin. He cleared his throat audibly and spoke in a heightened voice: "Kopa, would you mind telling us what you learned about bacterial infections the other day?"

"Oh, those are bad," Kopa replied in the same loud tone, "you said something about how they can cause all sorts of problems if you don't treat them."

"And what kind of problems do they cause?"

"Well, if the bacteria things get into your body through a cut…the part of you where the cut is rots and falls off."

_That's not quite how it works, _Hermann thought, briefly envisioning a new book, _Physician's Desk Reference, as Told by Kopa_. Despite the glaring inaccuracies, however, it was more than enough to convince Vitani to stop the filibuster. "OK, OK!" she shouted, "he can come in and look at it, but nothing else!"

Hermann walked in and pulled some strange-looking items out of his back pocket. "What the heck is that?" Vitani asked, hoping that whatever was in Hermann's hand wasn't what he had needed to use with Kopa.

"A penlight, and a magnifying glass," Hermann said. "The first one shines a light so I can see, the second one makes what I'm looking at seem bigger. Here, have a look at this rock."

Vitani peered through the magnifier as Hermann shone the light on a small stone. "So does this thing hurt?" she asked.

"It's just light, no different from what the sun makes," Hermann replied, making the small beam dance across the back of his hand. "Just hold still for ten seconds and I'll prove it to you." Reluctantly, Vitani put her paw back in Hermann's outstretched hand, revealing a barbed thorn stuck in one of the pads.

"I've found the problem, and...wow, what's that over there?"

No sooner than Vitani had turned her head in the direction of Hermann's pointing, he had grabbed a hidden pair of tweezers and pulled the thorn out with a swift tug. "_Ow!_" the cub yelped, more surprised and indignant than hurt.

"Oh, sorry, is this yours?" Hermann asked, holding the thorn up between his thumb and forefinger. "I think that ought to fix things; try standing normally."

Vitani put her paw down and immediately scampered off towards the others. "Come on, Kopa, let's go!" she said, only to be stopped in her tracks by Nala.

"Vitani, I think you have something to say to Hermann…"

"_All right, all right_…thanks, Hermann."

"No problem. I was wondering, can Kopa stay here for a just few minutes? Ever since Simba asked me to perform for you guys, I've had the worst time figuring out what to choose; maybe the maestro-in-training here can give me a hand." He shot a quick glance at Kopa, who was grinning having heard the Italian honorific in reference to himself.

"Sure, of course he can stay and help you," Nala said, prompting a frustrated groan from Vitani.

"We won't be ten minutes," Hermann reassured her. "After that, you two can go do whatever you had planned, within reason, of course. Just because your friend's up and walking again doesn't mean you go have a full-contact mud wrestling match on day one…right, Kopa?" Hermann looked to his right where Kopa had been standing only moments ago, only to see that he had already gone inside. "Like I said, ten minutes, nothing more."

"Do you really think he's going to be ten minutes?" Vitani asked Nala after Hermann had joined Kopa and was safely out of earshot. "Something tells me they're going to be in there for hours."

"I don't know," Nala said with a smile, "sometimes, I don't know whether Hermann thinks he's a doctor, or the teacher at a one-student music school." _Actually_, she thought_, luckily for Kopa, he's rather impressive as both. _"I'll make sure they don't take too much time if you can be patient for a just bit…deal?"

"Ok, mo—sorry…_Nala._"

"No, what were you going to say?"

"Nothing, I almost called you 'mom'," Vitani replied, quite embarrassed and wishing she had kept her mouth shut all along. "Never mind…forget I ever said anything. Can you let me know when they're finished?"

"Yes, I'll be sure to," Nala said, content (much to Vitani's relief) to let the subject drop even though she knew that this conversation was far from being over.

_A few minutes later_

Hermann looked over his book of songs, trying to decide which pieces he might be able to throw together into something semi-presentable. Even though nobody in his audience would be able to recognize a mistake unless it was of rather immense magnitude, _he _would know immediately regardless of how noticeable the mistake might be, and that was more than enough motivation to get everything right the first time through. Unfortunately, the material he had brought along did not lend itself to easy acquisition; even Kopa, unaccustomed to written music as he was, could tell that whatever was in Hermann's book was technical to say the very least. Just trying to get a sense of the symbols on the page made his head hurt, although he did surmise correctly that whatever it all meant, it wasn't the same kind of soft, slow music he had grown accustomed to.

"So what's the hardest piece you've ever done?" Kopa asked as Hermann furiously turned pages, looking for something that didn't look like calculus equations instead of sheet music. "Wow…that one looks _really_ hard."

"No kidding, you're looking at the most difficult piece in the book…maybe even the hardest song, _period_. My theory is, Schubert was at the bar and got punched by a drunken baritone, so he wrote this piece to get everlasting revenge on whoever might fancy himself a half-decent singer. It's almost impossible to get everything right; even the greats can't always pull it off. As far as the hardest one _I've _ever done, that title goes to '_Largo al Factotum'. _I learned it once for an audition with an amateur opera company at home; six pages of torture courtesy of Gioacchino Rossini, that one was."

"_Largo al Factotum? _What does that mean? Those don't sound like German words."

"They don't, because they aren't. That's Italian, the language they speak in Italy. It means 'Make way for the factotum'."

"What's a factotum?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Hold on…_Markos, what are you doing with my stuff?_"

"I'm looking for something for my hands; look at them, they're rubbed raw," Markos replied as he rummaged through Hermann's things.

"Well that's no surprise," Hermann said, "it's either hot and dry or cold and dry here. You don't need a medical degree to figure that out. Check my dobkit; there should be a bottle of hand moisturizer in there somewhere."

"This is it?" Markos said unimpressed, holding up a generic-brand airline sized bottle. "You didn't think to get the medicated kind? No Vitamin E, no aloe…nothing?"

"It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again."

"Never mind, sorry I asked. And by the way, a factotum is a person who does a whole bunch of things, from the Latin words 'facere' and 'totum'. You're welcome."

"Well, there you have it," Hermann said to Kopa. "Someone who does a bit of everything…that's a factotum."

"Like you!"

"Well…I guess, I never thought about it that way before!"

"So if that song's really, really hard, does that mean you didn't sing it well? I bet you'd do fine singing it for us."

"No, I sang it fine, but someone else got the part. I have to think the cane had a lot to do with it; Figaro's supposed to look young and energetic, not crippled for life and about to lose balance and crash into the lead soprano."

"OK, you don't have to do that one…what if we did that German song you taught me? And didn't you say there are eight more songs that go with it?"

"The Heine Liederkreis? Yes, there are eight other songs…and I've even got the music here with me; I completely forgot that I had it! Tell you what," Hermann said slowly as he thought everything over, "if it's OK with your father, I'll do that piece for you all on one condition: you do song eight, and I do the rest."

"Are you sure? In front of everyone? I'm not good like you are…"

"No, no, it'll be fine! Don't be so hard on yourself; you already know how to sing the song anyway, and between now and then, I can help you make it even better. Even Markos can sing that song…speaking of which, what's he up to this time? _Markos, was ist denn jetzt?"_

"You and Kopa hold the music lesson and come with me."

"Why are you holding your rifle?"

"You'll see soon enough, and you'd be wise to bring yours along as well. And this time…load it!" Markos ran out the door and out of sight.

"He said he—

"He wants us to come with him," Kopa said before Hermann could finish translating. "I understood what he said…sort of."

"You haven't picked up any bad words listening to us speak, have you?" Hermann asked with uneasy anticipation.

"Well, there's one word I heard you say after you tripped over a root, but I don't know if it's bad or not. You said, '_Schei—_

"_OK, never repeat that one! _Let's go see what Markos found; this other stuff can wait." _Mental note_, Hermann said to himself as he grabbed his cane and walked outside, _no more swearing around the kid._


	19. Gerechtigkeit

**ZWANZIG**

_**Gerechtigkeit**_

"Who is she? How did she get here?"

"What do you think happened to her side there?"

"Where's Hermann? He should have been here by now."

"He's got a bad leg, remember? He doesn't go any faster than a walk."

All the lionesses were conversing in whispers as they stood in a tight circle, staring intently on what lay, unconscious, in the middle. "All right, all right, I'm here," Hermann said as he pushed his way through, not expecting anything but a false alarm from his friend. "What's the big emergen—_Jesus_!"

"Who's Jesus?" three lionesses asked at the same time.

"Never mind, who is _that, _and who did all that to her?" He was looking at another lioness, visibly skinny and caked with dust and dirt. On one side, she was covered in what looked like deliberately-inflicted claw marks. Hermann couldn't help but think right back to his first night in Africa; whoever he was looking at now was not nearly as bad as Kopa had been, but there were too many similarities to ignore or dismiss as coincidence.

"We were thinking you might be able to help us answer that question," Nala said to Hermann. "Simba? Where are you?"

"Coming, right here," Simba replied as he joined Hermann in the middle of the circle. "One of them…" he said, slowly drawing out his words without ever taking his eyes off the new arrival.

"One of _who_?" Hermann asked, exasperated. "If someone doesn't tell me what's going on around here—

"Sorry...she's one of Zira's. Look at her; there's no way she could have come from anywhere else, plus, all the other prides live much further away." Simba bent down and sniffed at the unconscious lioness, who never so much as moved a whisker. "Definitely, one of the Outlanders. But there's something else here too I can't make out; I've only ever smelled it a few times down by that pond."

While Simba was busy trying to figure out exactly who he was looking at, Hermann was more concerned with the ground to one side of her: he saw something which told him that this lioness might not have arrived here under her own power. "Simba," he said, "if you don't mind, put your paw down in that little patch of sand there."

"OK," Simba replied as he stepped on the indicated spot. "What is it you're looking for?"

"I've already found it," Hermann answered. "Look, your print has four pad impressions, plus the center pad in the middle. And you can't see any claw marks in any of them. But whoever made these"—he gestured toward another set of tracks—"clearly wasn't a lion. This animal had elongated toes, not pads, and the claws weren't retractable either; you can easily see the marks at the end of each toe. And furthermore…"

"There are five toes, not four," Simba added before Hermann could finish. "Not a lion at all. So this begs two questions, not one: who is she, and how did she get here?"

"Half of the second question's already answered for us. See this set of tracks? They're going in the opposite direction as these ones, and neither set goes past the point of where she's lying. And the footprints in both sets are identical."

"So that means she was carried?"

"Exactly. Someone brought her here, turned around, and went back to wherever he came from."

"Anything else?"

"The ones leading up to here are quite a bit deeper than the ones going away. There's only one explanation for that: this…thing…was carrying quite a lot more weight on the way here than on the way back. I'd bet anything that she was the extra weight. But what other animals around here make a print with five toe impressions?"

"Nothing comes to mind," Simba said. "Most everything around here either has hooves or paws that look like ours. The only other thing I can think of is an elephant, and believe me, we _all _would have known if one of those showed up."

"So then it wasn't an elephant, not any species of cat, nothing with hooves…wait…no, that's crazy! It couldn't be _him_…"

"It couldn't be _who?_"

"You said you smelled something strange on her, yes? Something you've only ever smelled down by a certain pond near here?"

"Yes, I did."

And whatever lives in that pond would surely smell like the water in the pond itself, right?"

"But she doesn't live at the pond," Simba said, slightly confused. "None of us do."

"_She _doesn't, but the animal that brought her here does…an animal that lives in the very same pond you mentioned—the only one around here—and makes this exact footprint. And I should add, there's no way in hell I'm going to go chasing after him to figure out the details of what happened."

"Wait, how do you know it's a 'he'?"

"Let me put it this way…does the name 'Roberto' have any meaning to you?"

"Sure, we all know a Roberto, he lives…in that pond…"

"Bingo! These aren't lion prints, nor did they come from anything else that lives on land. They're crocodile tracks. But why he brought her all the way remains a mystery, and one I'm not too keen on solving right now."

"Why not? As long as you don't catch him on a bad day, he's perfectly fine. Every time I've seen him, he couldn't have been nicer, even if he's a bit difficult to understand. His English is…limited, let's say."

"And what happens on his bad days, if I might ask?"

"I'll say this much: whatever you heard about how Zira got that bit of her ear ripped off, it wasn't a battle wound or a freak accident. Roberto snagged her when she tried to run off with one of his kills; she didn't realize one of the logs floating on the pond nearby had eyes…and teeth. I can try and find him and ask what happened, but in the meantime, let's get this one inside and taken care of. Something tells me she isn't here to cause trouble, even if she did come from the Outlands."

_A few hours later_

"In your opinion, Herr Schreiber, who was the prettiest girl we had with us in medical school?" Hermann said as he knelt over the still-sleeping lioness, who had been laid out on the mattress normally occupied by Kopa. "More suture material please, if you don't mind."

"Right here," Markos replied, handing off a new needle and thread. "Had to be Andrea, the one who lived across the street."

"Andrea? Seriously? She couldn't compare to that exchange student we had from St. Petersburg…what was her name again?" Hermann tied off the last knot. "Syringe."

"Evgenia, I think. Here's your syringe. Just plain saline in it, right?"

"Yep, just saline…she looks pretty dehydrated. I know I've done one of these already, but she could probably use another. That's as much as we can do for now; we can try and get her cleaned off in the pond once she's awake, but in the meantime, get the cards out of my suitcase and pour a drink or two. We'll play gin until she comes around."

"I thought the last of that booze was drunk?"

"I did too…and then I remembered this little beauty in here." Hermann pulled out a small bottle hidden between a few pairs of pants. "Deal a hand."

"Where did you get that?" Markos asked in amazement as he shuffled the cards. "That's a twelve-year-old Scotch!"

"Remember that patient I had who was the co-owner of a distillery?" Hermann replied. "The one we brought out of a coma after that horrible car accident?"

"Sure I remember him…did he give you a bottle as a thank-you gift?"

"Not exactly; he bought five bottles for all of us when Doctor Bruch was retiring, and I lifted one from the going-away party when the security guy's back was turned. Obviously no-one was ever going to drink it all…"

"Please tell me you aren't being serious. You stole Scotch from a retirement party?"

"Don't use that word, I didn't _steal_ it, I…borrowed it without permission, but with every intention of bringing it back."

"Get help. Soon. Here are your cards; is this going to be 'house rules', or the normal, more law-abiding version?"

"Of course it's house rules, what did you expect? The loser of each hand does a shot, and five losses in a row means you have to do whatever punishment the winner decides on."

"Very good…in that case, you'll be performing the hardest, most technical songs you can think of for thirty minutes in front of the whole pride." Hermann rolled his eyes, knowing Simba had already asked him to do exactly this, but he wasn't expecting to hear what came next: "And you'll be naked."

"Fine with me, I suppose, knowing what you'll be doing if _I _win. Hey, wait a minute," Hermann said as he looked over his shoulder, "I think she's coming to!"

"Having second thoughts about nude arias, are we?"

"No, seriously, look! She's moving a bit." He got up and knelt down next to the lioness, keeping one hand on Markos's revolver where it couldn't be seen. "Can you hear me?"

"…I'm freezing…" Hermann could see that her teeth were chattering as if it were wintertime. "What…what happened?" She moved her back legs underneath herself, hoping to get up.

"You passed out and someone brought you here," Hermann replied frankly, not wanting to go into the details of who the "someone" was. "Don't try to get up just yet; you're cold because you've been dehydrated all this time. Are you from Zira's pride? What's your name?"

"Adila," the lioness replied. "I'm not here to…cause any problems…where's Vitani?"

"You know her? _Markos, get Vitani._" Markos jogged outside, calling the cub's name. "Markos is getting her," Hermann said. "You need to lie here for awhile so the medicine has some time to work. I'll make sure you stay warm enough. As long as you don't mean us any harm, we'll extend that same courtesy to you, understood?" He pulled the blanket off of his own sleeping bag and draped it over Adila, who still hadn't stopped shivering. "How's that?"

"Better. The one who just went outside, is his name Markos?"

"Yes, he's Markos; I'm Hermann. As you might be able to tell, we're not from around here."

"I know…you're the ones I heard about, the two humans who saved Kopa that night. You're from that place they call Germany."

"That's us. If you don't mind me asking, how did you get all those scratches on your side? That couldn't have been an accident; we even had to stitch up a few of the bad ones."

"Zira…she got in a few lucky swipes, but nothing I can't handle. I'll tell you everything I know, I promise, but can I sleep here for a bit first? I finally feel like I'm not trapped in a blizzard."

"I guess downhill skiing is out of the picture for you…"

"Downhill what?"

"Downhill skiing; that's when you go up a mountain in winter, strap two thin pieces of fiberglass to your feet, and try to make it down without crashing into a tree or falling over a cliff…it's lots of fun, you should try it if you're ever in Innsbruck. As far as things go right now, we should go back to that pond and have you drink something later, but you can stay here for now and warm up."

"Sorry…'stay here for now and _what _up'?"

"Warm up...you know, stay under the blankets and such?" Adila kept looking at him confusedly, at which point Hermann realized she wasn't used to his speech, in particular, his Germanized pronunciation of the letter _w_. "My mistake, I meant _warm_," he said, making sure to not change the first letter into a _v_. "I'm so used to my own accent, it doesn't sound strange at all to me. Close your eyes and get some rest; I'll wake you up in a bit."

"What about Vitani? Where is she, I have to talk to her."

"She's around here somewhere. She and Kopa never go too far, nowhere Markos can't find them at least. You'll have plenty of time to see her, as much as you like; I'll make sure of it."

Hearing this promise from Hermann, Adila shut her eyes and quickly went to sleep. _Must have been a hell of a trip getting all the way here in that state_, Hermann thought as he walked outside to find everyone else. "_Markos? Markos, wo bist?"_

"He's gone off to find Vitani," a voice recognizable as Simba's responded from around a corner. "Yes, I could tell you're looking for him; Kopa's wasted no time in teaching me what he already knows of your language. So, who is this lioness…is she an Outlander like I thought?"

"Her name is Adila, _Euer Majestät_, and—

"What did I say about the "your majesty" thing?" Simba said with a smile. "Please, call me by my name, unless you want to be 'Herr Sterlitz' for the rest of the time you're here."

"Right…she's one of the Outlanders, but she's not here to do Zira's dirty work. The two of them must have had a rather heated falling-out; that's the most probable explanation for all the scratches she has. We'll know more tomorrow once she's rested up and gotten back to normal—she's promised to tell us everything, by the way—but I'm thinking she ran away just to stay alive."

"Excellent work. Once again, we owe you more than we can ever repay."

"Don't sweat it," Hermann said, glad to finally test out a new expression in English even though it came out sounding like 'don't svet it'.

"How's your concert preparation going?" Simba asked. "For someone such as yourself, I would imagine this is a walk in the park for you."

"I only wish that were true! It's coming along, but I'll need as much practice time as you can give me. Can you stay here until Markos gets back? I'm going to try and find him, but I don't want anybody waking Adila up in the meantime. The sooner she gets better, which shouldn't take more than a day, the sooner we find out what's really going on here. She doesn't worry me at all, but whatever she's running from…_that's _what's going to keep me awake at night."

"Take your time. Adila wants to see Vitani, doesn't she?"

"Yes, how did you know? I wouldn't be surprised if they know each other from when they both lived in the Outlands, assuming they were there at the same time. What does 'Adila' mean, by the way? I'm not very well versed in African languages."

"I know because Markos knows a bit more English than you think he does! And 'Adila' is Swahili for 'justice'. How do you say that in German, if I might ask?

"_Gerechtigkeit_."


	20. Der Anschlag

AN: Please pardon any mistakes; I wanted to get a first draft up sooner rather than later. Revision will be carried out in due time!

**EINUNDZWANZIG**

_**Der Anschlag**_

Markos and Vitani returned shortly after Hermann set out to look for them, but of the three, only Vitani was unclear as to why she had been called back (much to Kopa's disappointment). Hermann would only tell her, despite her urging for more information, that she had a visitor, and asking Markos what had happened certainly wouldn't have done any good either: Vitani knew that she couldn't speak German, Markos didn't speak much English, and Hermann spoke both, leaving any clandestine communications out of the picture. When they all arrived inside the cave after the short walk home, Vitani immediately stared at Hermann's bed, which had been taken over by what looked like an indiscriminate lump under a blanket. "Is it dead?" she asked.

"Dead? No, of course not," Hermann said. "And she's not an 'it'; that only works in Hannibal Lecter movies. She's a lion, like you." He turned to Markos and asked in German, "How long has she been asleep? What time is it?" Markos just grinned and snickered.

"Hel-_lo? _ Not a hard question…what time is it?"

"It's Miller time."

"You're hopeless." Markos kept giggling, rather impressed with himself, as Hermann told Vitani that she could wake Adila up. "Do you know her at all?" Hermann asked the cub. "Her name is Adila; she was fairly intent on seeing you."

"Adila, as in Adila from our pride? This is her? Sure, I know who she is," Vitani said. "She was really nice to me, almost like having another aunt…that is, before I ran away and all that. I can't believe it, she made it all the way here? _Hey, Adila, wake up! It's me!_" Adila didn't move.

"You're talking to the wrong end," Hermann said. Even though the mix-up was understandable, as all of Adila, save for the end of her nose, was covered up, he still had to laugh.

"I meant to do that," Vitani said as she quickly went around to the other side. "Adila? _Adila? _Anyone home in there?"

_If I woke patients up with that line, I'd be up a certain creek without a paddle_, Hermann thought as Adila opened her eyes and saw Vitani standing next to her. "Vitani! You made it!" Adila said as soon as she recognized the cub.

"Yeah, there's a long story behind that one," Vitani said as she looked over at Markos. "I ran away after Zira tried to kill my best friend, and everyone here said I could stay, so here I am." Adila was surprised that Vitani didn't call Zira, "mom", but knowing what had happened, it wasn't long before she understood why. True, one lioness still carried that title as far as Vitani was concerned, but it certainly wasn't Zira. "So what brought you all the way here?"

"The same thing that brought you here. When Zira came back after that night, she thought for sure that she had succeeded in killing Kopa," Adila said, confirming what Hermann had though all along. "Of course, there was talk in the following days of what had happened here, but everyone spoke of an 'attack', not a murder. Zira might be evil, but she isn't stupid: she knew the reason for that choice of words. That's where I came in to this whole mess…I tried to convince her that the damage had been done, that the message had been set and so on and so forth, but she wouldn't have it. She had already decided to go back and finish the job."

"So were you complicit in this whole plan from the beginning?" Hermann asked, wondering where this lioness's loyalties truly lay.

"No, never! I never wanted any of this to happen. If I had known it was going to happen in the first place, I would have done anything to stop it. Killing another pride's cubs isn't a message, it's insanity…and I've never been on Zira's side to begin with. All my life, I've looked for some way out of that wasteland; I was always afraid to risk running because Zira would have had me killed for going against her. But this time around, _not_ running would have been the death sentence, so I took my chances."

"Why? What happened?" Hermann and Vitani asked at the same time.

"After Vitani escaped—none of us knew exactly to where, but we all had a good idea—Zira started planning in earnest to return here and get rid of Kopa, and anyone else who stood in her way, for good. Like I said, I tried to talk her out of it for days, but it didn't do any good, and one night she just snapped. She jumped me from behind and tried to kill me; she said something about 'if you're not with me, you're with them.' As soon as I could get myself free, I took off running…I didn't stop until I reached that pond a few days later. After that, it's a blank until now, but what I do remember is what Zira and her pride are planning to do, even if the others are being dragged along more out of fear than out of loyalty. They're coming here, two weeks from the day I left…so that leaves a week and a half. And they only have one objective, one order: kill everyone in this room, plus one who isn't."

"You mean they're not just after Kopa anymore?"

"Zira took it personally. Kopa's not the only one with a price on his head; we're all on her hit list now, especially Vitani and 'those damned Germans', in her words, who rescued Kopa after the attack. I can only assume that means you two, even though I doubt she even knows what 'German' means," Adila said, looking at Hermann and Markos. "And it's also a safe bet that in the time I've been gone, my name's been added to the list as well."

"Why would they wait two weeks to come? Why not just show up overnight and raid, pillage, plunder, loot and burn before anyone has time to prepare?"

"Because they couldn't risk it…more than one of them are set to have cubs any day now. Once that's all taken care of, however, we're their next stop. I heard it myself; they won't leave for at least another week." Adila stopped, noticing that Vitani had completely changed, and not for the better, in the few seconds since her rather detailed description of Zira's plans. "What's wrong, Vitani?" she asked.

Vitani looked off to one side, then to another, and sprinted out of the cave, tears staining the ground below her as she ran.

"_Warten! Was ist los?_" his friend echoed in German, all to no avail.

"What kind of question is that?" Hermann answered back. "You know exactly what's wrong…if one of your parents were trying to kill you, don't you think you might feel just a little discouraged…that is, once the eighteen shots of Jägermeister you took to cope wore off?"

"Well, _now _I know what's wrong, but I think you're forgetting that none of that conversation took place in German. Calm down…have a drink, seeing as you're already thinking about alcohol this early in the day."

"I'm not opening that Scotch until we've both got time to enjoy it," Hermann said. "Stay here with Adila; looks like I'm on cub recovery duty again. Tell her I'll be back soon, and then we'll all head for the pond." Markos nodded and gestured for Hermann to go, even though he knew it would be a task just to introduce himself in English, never mind discuss the particulars of what was happening now. When Hermann had unsteadily three-stepped his way outside, all he saw at first was Nala licking at something indiscriminate curled up against her side, but upon taking a closer look he saw it was someone familiar. "_Und? Wer ist das?_" Hermann asked, even though he knew the answer. "And who's that?"

"That," Nala said, stopping the licks long enough to speak, "would be Vitani. I assume you know why she's so upset? She's practically inconsolable…hasn't told me a word."

Hermann walked over and whispered what he knew into Nala's ear, not wanting Vitani to hear everything a second time around. "Oh, dear…not good," Nala said after Hermann had finished, not knowing what to be more worried about: Zira's planned assault on her pride, or Vitani's trying to quantify the fact that her own mother was out for her blood.

"Go away, Hermann!" Vitani whined, her voice muffled from her head being all but buried in Nala's fur. She might not have been able to see him, but his irregular footsteps and unmistakable accent had given him away from the start. "_Hau auf_, or however you two crazies say it!"

"Vitani!" Nala said, "You're not to speak like that, especially not to him!"

"It's no big deal," Hermann quickly interjected, "and it's actually '_hau ab'_, not '_hau auf'_; that would mean 'go up', which doesn't make much sense unless there's a staircase involved…so no offense taken. I'll leave you two alone." He turned around and went back inside; Vitani didn't move until she could no longer hear the wooden click of Hermann's cane against the ground. Nala, for her part, said nothing. She didn't quite know how to respond, seeing she had never had a contract taken out on her life—much less by her mother, of all the possible suspects—and as such thought it best to keep quiet until either she or Vitani found the right words.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Nala finally said after as she looked out over the plains. "Hermann's going to get Zira; he's a first-class shot, and on the small chance he misses for the first time in his life, Markos will be right behind him with a second bullet."

Unfortunately, as far as Vitani was concered, Nala was merely stating the obvious. She could have cared less about the fact that her life might have been in some kind of danger; she knew as well as Nala did that Hermann and his rifle against almost anyone else was a one-sided engagement. What Vitani was feeling was anguish, not fear.

"She wants me dead…my own mother…" she choked out. "How could she do that?"

"That…I…don't know." It doesn't make any sense—

"And the rest of my family? What's going to happen to them? Hermann's gonna shoot them too, I know it. They're not all bad, but Hermann won't have a choice if they go for him. I didn't even get to tell them 'goodbye' before I left; now I'll have no family at all."

"I'll talk to him, maybe there's something he can do. My feeling is, someone as well-trained as he is can make allowances for that. But more importantly, don't forget you've still got a family, no matter what happens. There's all of us here…me, Simba, Kopa, Adila—yes, she can stay; I've already made sure of that—and of course our little German detachment. And speaking of those two, they probably understand what you're going through even better than I do, given both of their histories."

"How would they understand? They've never had anything like this happen to them."

"Actually, they have. Remember how Hermann and Markos both lost their great grandfathers in the war, and how one of Hermann's best friends was killed just last week at the hospital? Trust me; they know what it's like to feel sad and confused. If you told them what you've just told me," Nala said as gently as possible, "I'd be very surprised if they didn't figure it all out in seconds. After all, they _are _doctors."

"Doctors with weird accents," Vitani said, smiling a bit.

"Well, they probably think _we _have weird accents. But more importantly than that, we're not going to just kick you out once all is said and done, the fight's over, and the boys are back in Europe. Like I've told you before, you're part of our family now—nothing's ever going to change that—and you'll never have to go back to that horrible place ever again. I promise."

Vitani could feel the tears coming back, and for once, knowing there would be no resultant ridicule, she made no effort at all to keep up her normally tough-skinned façade. After a few uncertain seconds, she got up and slowly inched her way between Nala's front paws, the same way she had always seen other cubs do with their own mothers but had never been able to do herself. Nala started grooming her again, and Vitani finally found the courage to ask the one question that had been on her mind from the moment she had arrived.

"Nala? Can I call you 'mom'?"

_Meanwhile_

With Hermann puffing and panting at the back of the line, everyone in his pond-bound excursion slowly made their way down to the water. Hermann knew that Zira would still be at least a week away, but since hearing Adila describe what was in store for the pride, he wasn't comfortable going anywhere without a rifle and a handful of shells. As Markos filled a few canteens and dropped in a few iodine tablets in each one—tablets which Hermann had already checked, just to make sure they weren't more sleeping pills—Adila set about rehydrating while Hermann took off what little of Kopa's bandages remained necessary. Eventually, everyone but Hermann, who remained on the bank with a worried look on his face, was swimming and enjoying themselves.

"Why aren't you coming in?" Markos asked. "There's nothing wrong with the water."

"I'm not concerned about the water; I'm concerned about what's in it!" Hermann said.

"Stop whining and swim, Vulture Bait."

"Crazy person says what?"

"Trust me, you could seriously use a cleaning-off! And I don't see anything here besides water, so you've got nothing to worry about in the first place."

_Of course you don't see anything; ambush predators don't hang out where you can _see _them_, Hermann thought as he pulled his socks and shoes off and waded in. "I guess it's not too bad," he said once he was up to his shoulders. "At least there are worst places to be than this, even if it's full of critters that would love to eat me."

"What are you doing?" Adila said as she watched Hermann scrubbing himself. "Does that hurt?"

"I'm trying to get clean. When your tongue's only a few centimeters long, you've got to make do with these instead," he replied, holding up his hands. "And with all the mud you've picked up, you might want to try it as well. Wait…where did that log come from?"

"What log?" everyone asked.

"The one right in front of…now it's gone! Markos, stop playing jokes on me for one minute, will you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Markos said. "Either you're seeing things, or…I take that back; it just popped up behind you."

Hermann slowly turned around to see that Markos was spot on about the "log". "Who's doing this?" he said, visibly annoyed. "Can't you think of a better practical joke than moving a piece of wood around in a pond?"

"Again, it's not us," Markos replied, "but it _is_ off to your left side now…and one more thing, while we're on the subject: unless tree branches have suddenly evolved eyes and teeth, that's no log."

Hermann looked to his left and saw he was face to face with what he had been hoping to avoid all along: looking straight back at him was fourteen massive feet of crocodile, just far enough under the surface to keep from being seen the whole time. "So, this is Roberto?" he said to Kopa. "Uh…hi there."

"_Buenos días," _the shape said in a low, hissy voice before disappearing back under the water, only to re-emerge seconds later directly under Kopa, who was rather surprised to find himself suddenly clear of the water. What Hermann couldn't figure out was why Kopa looked so calm from then on as he sat on the back of an animal that could have easily, at any given time, turned him and everyone else into a four-course meal.

"See? Dad and I _told _you he's not bad," Kopa said as his unlikely carrier started paddling around.

"We must have found him on a good day," Hermann replied, still trying to clean himself off and get out as fast as possible. He could see that Kopa and this massive crocodile were having some sort of conversation as they circled around, but for the moment, he was quite content to make a hasty exit and ask about everything later. Once he saw that Adila had drunk enough water and managed to get the last of the mud and grit out of her fur, he put his shoes back on and picked up his cane, motioning impatiently for everyone else to follow him.

"What were you asking him?" Hermann asked Kopa as the two of them started to walk back.

"He was the one asking me things, actually," Kopa said. "He wanted to know why you act so funny around him. He said he wouldn't ever hurt one of us."

"Because in my country, if you see a crocodile three feet away, the accepted practice is to run like hell even if they've signed a nonaggression pact with the Prime Minister. What else?"

"He asked me how I was doing. He heard about what Zira did and wanted to make sure I was OK. The last time he saw me here with you, he said I looked pretty bad, but he didn't want to scare you and Markos by coming over."

_Either that, or he wanted to know if you weren't strong enough yet to swim away_, Hermann thought. "Is that all?"

"No, he also said that he recognized Adila, even though he didn't know her name, and that he brought her to us after she passed out, just like you thought. Figuring out how to say that one took him a long time; I don't think English is his first language."

"It isn't," Hermann said. "If he's from Spain, his first language would most likely be Spanish…Castilian, to be exact. Anyway, there's—

"That's not everything," Kopa interrupted. "He told me to tell you, and my Dad, that he can help us."

"Help us how? Disposing of the bodies once Markos and I stop shooting?"

Kopa rolled his eyes and gave a faint smile. "_No_, Hermann, before that. Have you ever heard of a lion going after a crocodile?"

"Come to think of it, no. If I recall correctly from my high school biology classes, nothing goes after crocodiles, at least not a crocodile that big."

"Not even Zira," Kopa said. "Even _her_ versus Roberto isn't a fair fight."

Hermann began to see that Kopa had a point. "And the last thing we want is a fair fight," he said, "in our favor, of course."

"Roberto's lived here for longer than any of us have even been alive," Kopa went on. "He told me it's the least he can do for Dad's letting him stay all this time; plus, I think he kinda likes me! At least, that's what I _think _he said. He's even harder to understand than you and Markos are."

"I hope that his taking a liking to you is strictly, and not in terms of you winding up on the nightly menu," Hermann said with a grin as he began to think things over anew. "So how old is he? I'll turn thirty next year…I doubt he's older than that."

"He's actually seventy-two."

"Wow…that's getting up there in years, even for a human. At any rate, Zira won't have forgotten who's responsible for her ear," he said to no-one specific, testing the ground in front of him with his cane before taking each step. Then, as quickly as Roberto had appeared from under the water a few minutes ago, Hermann heard something strange from behind him:

"_Dah-dum…dah-dum…_"

"Markos, if you sing one more confounded measure of that "JAWS" theme, I swear in the name of all things sacred that I'll kill you and make it look like an accident."


	21. Bier her

AN: the German drinking song can be found at the following link (add 'youtube' to the beginning). I apologize for those of you who had alerts set up for setting off alarms last night doing revisions, but unfortunately there's no way to fix mistakes without deleting the old chapter and uploading a new one. Oh well, _so ist das Leben _(such is life)!

.com/watch?v=Y5ryo-cd-EU

**ZWEIUNDZWANZIG**

_**Bier her**_

_That afternoon_

"Right here are the Outlanders' two most likely routes of approach," Hermann said as he scraped an outline of the rocks with a stick and pointed to a series of potential pathways. "Either they'll come up this set of steps here, the way everyone here does it, or they'll go around the other side through the boulders. That would give them more cover, but it would be a harder ascent—they'd only take that path if they knew we have the rifles, and I'm pretty sure that's not common knowledge." Simba stood next to Hermann, watching intently as the diagram on the floor became more and more complex: the rocks housing the pride sprouted a crude German flag on the top, trees and large boulders were scratched in or represented with pebbles, and before long, the entire picture was crisscrossed with arrows and arcs meant to show where a bullet could be placed with the necessary accuracy. After he had drawn in the last detail—for the time being at least—Hermann got up off his knees and looked over his handiwork, confident in his ability to draw, but in little else otherwise.

"See this arc?" he said. "That's the area we'll be able to cover, regardless of where Markos and I set up. Anything inside that arc is a target, provided we can see it as it makes its way here. Unfortunately, that also means anything outside the arc is more or less untouchable. We'd have to station two ranks on each side to compensate, and barring a miracle, we'd get our own little version of _der Götterdämmerung._

"What now? I've never heard you use that word before…German, is it?"

"Yes, of course it is. It doesn't mean anything good—let's just leave it at that. The point is, it's a fairly limited window we've got. Unless any attackers happen to stay in between those two imaginary lines I've draw, Markos and I can't see them or shoot at them. No matter where the two of us are, there's only so much we can do; anything behind us or too far off to one side—there are rocks behind us, above us, and to the left and right blocking our view—isn't in any danger until it's staring us in the face."

"What about Roberto?" Simba asked. "Didn't he say he could help us?"

"Yes, he did, and it sounded like a good idea until I thought it over a bit. Are you familiar with tanks?"

"No, what are they?"

"Tanks are heavily-armored vehicles with some very heavy weaponry…sort of like the car we have outside, but much bigger, hundreds of times stronger, and packing lots of firepower. They're almost impossible to destroy—

"But those are all good things! I thought you said it wouldn't work."

"I did; I wasn't finished yet. Yes, a tank is pretty much indestructible, which is the good part about having one on your side, but they're also slow and rather hard to maneuver. Essentially, they're like crocodiles with guns…you can't kill them, but if you're on foot and up against a tank, you can dance around it and stay out of reach all night. Unless Zira gets close enough, Roberto can't do much except chase her, and she'll have the speed advantage over him…even a fourteen-foot crocodile has his limits. With respect, _Euer Majestät_, even if everything were to go our way, I don't know how we're going to pull this off."

"Duly noted, Herr Sterlitz," Simba replied, knowing that Hermann couldn't stand being called Herr _anything_, even his proper last name. It was the best friendly reminder Simba could think of to keep the German royal honorifics from spiraling out of control; as much as Hermann preferred to be called Hermann, even at the hospital where it would have been all good and proper to call him by his surname, Simba was equally insistent that the formal titles, regardless of language, be disposed of. "I'll admit, it doesn't look good," he said, "but if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've already done this kind of thing—the diagrams, the careful planning—once before."

"Yes, and no," Hermann replied. "It wasn't nearly as high stakes as what we're in now. You see, every year in medical school, there was a competition between two dorms wherein we would try to get into the other building and steal a designated case of beer inside. My team decided to give me the task of coming up with the master plan, seeing as I wouldn't be able to move very quickly and the sound of my cane would give all of us away, so I came up with an absolutely brilliant idea that involved disabling the building's alarms, sending three people dressed in black through a back window at 3 am, and ferrying the beer bucket-brigade style back to our place. Otto von Bismarck couldn't have done better himself."

"So it worked then?"

"Actually, we never got the chance to test it. As all of us were meeting in my room behind closed doors to discuss the plan, the other guys showed up, went through our front door undetected, and waltzed out thirty seconds later with a free case of Celebrator Doppelbock. We didn't even see them; they left us a note congratulating us for facilitating the easiest heist in German history. I'm convinced that had we actually been given the opportunity to try out my plan, it would have gone off without a hitch, but nevertheless it brings up an important point."

"What, that we need to make sure Zira doesn't steal our beer?"

"Not beer…ourselves. The other team got in because our backs were turned; we were so focused on our own plan of attack that we completely forgot to defend. That time, it cost us a twenty-Euro case of booze, but if we make the same mistake here, we won't be nearly as lucky. The price will be in lives, not bottles." Hermann kneeled back down to look at his diagram, knowing he had already gleaned from it what little information there was. "I don't know what to tell you…this is completely foreign territory for me, in every sense of the word. I've never had any military training, commanded a detachment, or shot in self-defense…and on top of all that, Vitani doesn't want me to shoot any of the Outlanders. What am I supposed to do, just drop my gun and cover myself with steak sauce?"

"I can't blame her for not wanting you to shoot," Simba said. "They're her family…and most of them, except for a few die-hard loyalists, would escape if they could. It's Zira's penalty for desertion alone that keeps them following her."

"What penalty? Death?"

"Exactly…a slow and painful one at that. Zira has a following out of fear; Adila told you so herself, that's why she never ran away until the prospect of certain death suddenly hinged on her staying as opposed to her going. Normally, however, it's the other way around."

Hermann started pacing unsteadily back and forth, staring at the ground and rhythmically scratching his head with the hand that wasn't holding on to the cane. What are you thinking?" Simba said. "You seem like you're about to say something."

"No…no big ideas to speak of yet. I'd get Markos to help us out too, but the last time I checked, he was displaying his enviable role model qualities by teaching the cubs German drinking songs."

"You mean the one that goes, 'Beer here, beer here' over and over again?"

Hermann kept up his walking back and forth, a steady _step, step, tap_ sound echoing off the walls as he went along. He knew Vitani didn't want him to wipe out the rest of her family, and he was trying hard to come up with some way to do so and not die himself, but his success in this endeavor so far had been rather limited.

"The only way to keep from actually having to shoot at the Outlanders would be to keep them from attacking us in the first place; if we're in danger, I won't have any choice but to shoot. And if they didn't attack us in the first place, Zira and whoever she has as her back-up would pick up on that pretty quickly. So what we need is some way to make it _look_ like their good guys are doing her dirty work, but without her knowing that they're actually on our side. I might be on to something here…you follow where I'm going with this?"

"Sort of…but how would we ever manage something like that?"

"We offer an olive branch. Say Vitani and Adila are right—that most of their pride are just good lions stuck in a bad situation. Right now, their only choices are between our rifle bullets and Zira's death sentences, but we can promise them protection, a good home for their families, food and water, freedom…everything Zira's denied them. If they're good at heart and desperate to get out, why wouldn't they take us up on that? And most importantly, we can do it all without Zira ever knowing any better."

"How?"

"With a fake firing squad. We shoot, miss on purpose, and they fall over...alive and unhurt, but pretending to be dead. Markos and I can send the bullets overhead or into the ground; as long as the ones on our side really sell it well, Zira won't be able to tell it's an act. The actual gunshots are all we need for her to buy it."

"Still, the question remains, how are we actually going to make it all happen? I like your idea, but we can't just stroll into the Outlands and advertise, and besides, there's no telling if they'll turn on us afterwards."

"I can be rather convincing if necessary," Hermann said as he pointed to the revolver strapped under his belt. "Besides, like I've already said, if what we think we know from Vitani and Adila is true, we'd be helping them as much as they'd be helping us, so there's probably going to be no need for any extra coercion. As far as actually getting the necessary information out to Vitani's family…that's a completely different story. How far away are the Outlands, out of curiosity?"

"Three or four days of steady walking—but you don't mean to tell me you're actually going to _go _there, do you?"

"Do you know of any other way to end this thing once and for all? We have to trust the information we've got, that we won't be in nearly as much danger as we think. Vitani and Adila can guide us and advise us on who to talk to, we can take the rifles with us for protection, and if we go in the car, those three to four days turn into three or four hours."

"You're crazy, Hermann. You can't go risking your neck out there for nothing. You'll be killed, and you're no good to anyone dead."

"I'm risking my neck no matter what. The way I see it, going and trying to talk with them is the only way we might be able to win in the end. You asked me to help you, and unless someone's got a better idea, I'm afraid that's how it's going to have to be."

"Fine, if you insist…but I'm coming with you. You can't go to the Outlands by yourself."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Hermann flatly replied. "Remember how the other med students stole our beer while we were preoccupied with planning the same for them? Like I already said, there's a lesson in that: no leaving your home base unguarded. You have to stay here with Markos and keep things held down in the short time I'm gone."

"I'll do no such thing. You don't stand a chance without some kind of backup."

Hermann sighed heavily. "I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this, and please know I don't mean any disrespect, but that was an order, not a request. If you want to do the right thing and keep innocent lives from being lost, _and _have all of ours survive on top of that, you've got to trust and listen to me. Kings listen to their advisors; even the German Prime Ministers have entire groups of people helping them—more than all of us combined, in fact. And I'll still have backup. Vitani and Adila will come with me, plus I'll make sure I'm more than adequately armed. I'm your Director of Security, after all; shooting's one thing I know quite a bit about."

"Deputy Chief of Security, not Director of Security," Simba replied, wondering if there was much of a difference between the two. "You drive a hard bargain, but I'm in no position to argue. Start packing what you need; you should set off at first light tomorrow. With any luck, you'll be back by sundown."

"I will be. And please don't think this is some sort of power trip; it's for Kopa, for all of you…not for me."

"I know, I know…I shouldn't have been so stubborn. I will carry out your instructions to the last detail, you have my word. I'm only reluctant because I'm worried about you; I can't lie and say I'm not. All you've done for us in these short few weeks; you're like a brother to us. I'm not sure what we'd do if we lost you, Kopa especially. He'd never get over it.."

"I told you I'll come back. That means I will."

_Sunset_

Between convincing Markos to let him leave with the car and persuading Adila and Vitani to come with him on his trip, as well as telling Kopa time and again that he wasn't going to die and would be back within the day to resume their concert practice, Hermann spent the better part of the subsequent two hours arguing over minutia and assuaging fears of his demise at the hands of another pride. But finally, he was able o win an uneasy acceptance; as he and Simba already knew, there didn't seem to be any better options available. As he was packing a few vital necessities into his suitcase, which had been emptied of its former contents, Markos came in and asked where the matches were hidden.

"They're wrapped up inside my Universität Stuttgart sweater," Hermann said, wondering what his friend was up to. "Are you cooking tonight?"

"I'm not sure what I'm doing; Simba and Nala asked me to build a big fire outside, so that's what I'm doing."

"They speak German now?"

"No, but luckily for all of us, the words _feuer _and _fire_ are close enough for even me to understand. And it looks like there's something else hidden in that sweater along with the matches…you planning a fun night out on the town? Markos held up the bottle of Scotch and shook his head with a smile.

"Actually, I thought the both of us could drink that. Tonight's as good a time as any, but not until we've got something to eat. I can't afford a hangover with what's in store for me tomorrow."

"You know you'll have one anyway. Keep packing your things, and meet me outside in one hour. Simba and Nala's orders as well."

"There's no way you understood _that _sentence in English."

"No way at all. But between myself, the two of them, and Kopa, there's enough German floating around to be sufficient. See you in sixty minutes."

_I wonder if he's already drunk_, Hermann thought as he heard Markos leave and resumed packing up his suitcase. By the time he was satisfied with what he had decided to bring—a change of clothes, pen and paper, his passport, and a rifle with a box of ammunition—the sun had already started to dip below the horizon; Hermann surmised an hour had passed, and as such, he could go and see whatever surprise was awaiting him. "What…the…" was all he could say when he walked outside to a hero's welcome and what could only be described as a towering inferno.

"We heard about a tradition you humans have where you all sit around a fire, eat, and tell stories, so we figured we'd try to recreate it for you before your big trip tomorrow morning," Simba explained. "It's the least we could do."

"Not bad at all," Hermann said, "but for the record, the fire's supposed to be a fairly small affair, not a recreation of a napalm drop."

"We knew that…but Markos insisted on a big one. We've got your favorites cooking, what I think you call 'steak'—from an antelope, of course, but just as good as anything you could find in Germany."

Hermann said a rather humbled "thank you", sat down next to Markos by the fire, and poured two shots of Scotch. "Wait, wait," Markos said before his friend could drink, "we need a toast first. I would have thought a career drinker like yourself would know better than that…"

"OK, OK," Hermann grumbled as he raised himself up and lifted his glass. Through the dancing smoke and flames, he could see Simba and Nala sitting on the other side of the fire with Vitani—now the newest official member of the family—and Kopa lying at their feet, flanked by the rest of the pride and all waiting for a few words of inspiration. "Tomorrow," Hermann said, addressing everyone around the fire, "we make for the Outlands…for you, for ourselves, for our homelands. Much is expected of us; we will not fail. Of course, I would like very much to think that everything we have done thus far was based in perseverance and skill alone," he went on, "but the truth is, we've been lucky as well—we all have been—and that certainly hasn't hurt us. So let's hope that luck continues. _Auf das Glück…_to luck!"

"To luck!" all echoed as Markos and Hermann clinked glasses and drained the contents.

"How did that sound?" Hermann asked in German as he sat back down.

"Like you lifted it from a Soviet submarine film…I've seen _The Widowmaker_ before. The bit about not failing, the toast to luck; you took those straight from the script."

"Guilty as charged. How about a drinking song?"

"OK! I'm not very good at these English ones, but I'll try". He stood up and cleared his throat. "_There was a young lady from Wheeling, who had an incredible feeling—_

"STOP! For God's sake, Schreiber, keep it clean!"

"You _asked _for a drinking song, I _gave_ you a drinking song. Sue me."

"I didn't mean for you to sing that one! The beer song from earlier—the one you taught Kopa and Vitani—do that instead. First, though, we need more shots. Who wants a shot?" He asked the question in English so that everybody would understand, but he had forgotten that apart from a short glass of liquor, the word "shot" had two additional, very distinct definitions that a certain pair of cubs were not keen to revisit.

"Why would I _want _one? I thought I was done needing those!"

"Shoot yourselves, not me."

Hermann laughed as he grabbed the Scotch bottle and filled the two glasses, spilling as much liquid on the ground as he intended to drink himself. "OK, go!" he said to Markos, "and try to stay on key for once, it won't kill you."

_Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um, juche!_

_Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um._

One by one, everyone else joined in as they figured out the words.

_Soll das Bier im Keller liegen, _

_Und ich hier die Ohnmacht kriegen!_

_Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um!_

"Bravo…_prost!_" Hermann shouted as he emptied the contents of his glass. "Another!" Even more shots were poured, and the surrounding African plains were summarily treated to go-round after go-round of German bar-room repertoire and raucous cheering, the words getting more sluggish and slurred together with each passing verse. An hour or so later, having finally tired of singing and watching their two human friends try to drink each other into oblivion, Kopa and Vitani decided to play around on the rocks nearby; Hermann and Markos, true to form, were trying to finish off the last of the bottle.

"Why doesn't one of you go watch those two?" Simba asked, speaking to both men but knowing only one would understand him fully. "I'd appreciate it if you could keep an eye on them for me."

"S'okay," Hermann said getting up, motioning for Markos to stay put and trying to remember where the cubs had gone even though they were only fifty feet away. "I'll…go an'_…_find them."

Hermann slowly walked away, titling ever so slightly to the left and looking a bit to the right as he went along. He could no longer be seen by the others once he found Kopa and Vitani, but his voice (now undeniably garbled) and the tapping of his cane, which had become even more irregular than normal, told everyone he wasn't far away. "Are they chasing each other?" Nala asked Simba, picking up on the hurried footfalls coming from nearby. "It sounds like they're playing tag or something."

"With Hermann?" Simba replied. "That's going to be the world's shortest-ever game if _he's_ playing, but I think you're right…I can hear them over there."

"_I'm the fastest!"_

"_No, I'm_ _the fastest!"_

"_I'm drunk!"_


	22. Das Wandern I

**DREIUNDZWANZIG**

_**Das Wandern I: Das Geheimtreffen**_

Hermann had woken up with drink-induced headaches before, but when he woke up that morning at approximately 5:30 am, he realized that whatever pain records he had set for himself in the past were all but broken. Someone—Markos, he assumed—had taped a pocket knife to the end of his rifle for use as a crude bayonet, and a few pieces of paper lay around the cave with messy writing on them. Even in his impaired state, Hermann immediately knew who the notes had come from, as _he _certainly hadn't written them, and his friend was the only other literate resident of the pride.

Hermann got up, rubbed his eyes with a groan, and tried with difficulty—the light was quite low, and his vision was as hung over as the rest of him—to read the messages.

_Don't forget to take this_, read a piece of paper in German underneath an ammunition box.

_And this_, said another note by his suitcase. As Hermann wearily made his way towards the car, cane in one hand, suitcase dragging heavily behind in the other, he caught sight of one last paper next to the nearly-empty bottle of Scotch from the previous night, both of which were placed unmistakably at the cave's exit. He bent over with a groan to pick up the note, and read it:

_Hair of the dog?_

"Markos, now is _not_ the time," Hermann mumbled as he kicked the bottle away and crumpled the piece of paper. He was going to toss it off to one side when he saw that there was writing on the back as well:

_Come back alive, Sterlitz_.

Vitani and Adila were already waiting outside by the car, both nervous and excited, as neither had ever been in a car before, and had only ever seen one from a distance in the past. "What happened to _you_?" Adila asked as soon as she caught sight of Hermann, who wasn't even making an effort to hide his condition.

"Hung over…never drinking again…" Hermann answered for probably the twentieth time in his life. He opened the Mercedes' trunk and heaved his suitcase inside, making sure to leave the rifle and ammunition next to the driver's seat where he could get to them easily. "Vitani, go up front; Adila, you take the back seats; they should be big enough for you if you get in lengthwise." He took one last look at the German flag over the rocks, barely visible in the early morning mist and hanging flat in the calm air, before he climbed into the car himself.

"Everyone settled in?"

"I think so," Adila said from the back, stretched out across the seats.

"Me too!" Vitani replied, looking out the windshield with her front feet on the dashboard. "Make it go!"

"Feet off the furniture," Hermann said as he turned the key in the ignition. "Come on…start…"

With a shudder and a cough, the old car sprang back to life, startling even the driver, who was more than used to being in and around automobiles. Hermann put the engine into gear and set off in the direction of the rising sun—or at least where he assumed it must have been in the fog—watching in the rear view mirror as first the flag, and then the rocks on top of which it sat, vanished into the sheet of gray.

_A few hours later_

The sight of Mercedes sedan driving by surely would have been a common occurrence in Hermann's native Stuttgart, but in the African bush and to all who lived there, cars were few and far between…especially when driven by a human and co-captained by a pair of lions. With no air conditioning or navigation system, Hermann had resorted to open windows and Vitani's directions, which seemed to be consistent as long as she stayed awake. The three were now driving in the general direction of a river as it flowed through a wide gorge, the boundary between Simba's lands and what would eventually become the Outlands. Vitani told Hermann he would know the border when he saw it—the gorge would narrow to a ditch as the river became little more than a creek, while the current abundance of wildlife would seemingly disappear into barren nothingness. But based on what Hermann was seeing out his driver's side window, they weren't quite there yet. "Any idea of where we are?" he asked, still feeling a few lingering effects of the previous night's Scotch festival.

"Somewhere between where we left from and where we need to go," Vitani said, resting her head on the top of the door sill. "I don't think we're too far, though; the gorge over there keeps getting smaller. Does everyone have one of these 'car' things in Germany? They sure are more fun than walking everywhere."

"Not everyone has a car, but many people do. In fact, my country has several places where they make these and ship them out all over the world; one is even right in Stuttgart."

"What kind of cars do they make? Are they hard to learn to drive?"

"They make very expensive ones. To answer your second question, most cars are fairly easy once you get the hang of driving them. The wheel I'm holding controls the steering—where I want the car to go—and I can speed up or slow down with two pedals down by my feet. What it is you're looking at so intently out there?"

"We're here. Stop."

Hermann pressed the brake pedal and coasted the Mercedes to a halt. He now saw exactly what Vitani had been talking about: the gorge was no more, just a creek running between two plains, one of which could not have been much different from the other. On one side, there was grass, trees, birds flying in the sky—a typical African savanna straight out of a travel brochure. The other side, however, was practically devoid of any vegetation whatsoever. It was a nearly flat, featureless landscape, broken only by boulders and the silhouettes of large, circling birds which Hermann could immediately recognize as vultures.

"I didn't know I was getting a Chernobyl Exclusion Zone tour on this trip," Hermann said as he stuffed a a handful of rifle rounds into his pocket, half-expecting to see signs in Russian warning of dangerous radioactivity. "Adila, Vitani…you two know where we're going once we get across?

"I do," Adila said, already walking towards the creek. We go straight ahead towards where those vultures are; we're bound to run into someone there. There's a cluster of rocks you can't see… it's where some of the lionesses stay during the daytime"

"Friendly ones, I hope. You go in front of me," Hermann said to Adila, "and Vitani, you go behind me. We'll proceed in a diagonal line of three; any sign of movement whatsoever, let me know. I've got a feeling there's more than lions and buzzards camping out here."

Hermann took an uneasy step across the creek and motioned for his two companions to follow. He put a shell in his rifle, snapped the bolt shut, and took up his place behind Adila. "Let's get in, do what we have to do, and get out," he said. "Stay sharp and do as I say, and we'll be back for more drinking songs by sundown. If we're attacked, we'll try and talk our way out of it first, but if that doesn't work, I won't have much of a choice but to use this." He pointed to the gun, hoping the others would understand. "I've got to protect myself and you two before anyone else, that's just the way it has to be."

Adila started walking forward, with Hermann and Vitani following in a staggered line behind her. For the first few minutes, Hermann went along with the rifle on his shoulder the whole time, just waiting for some kind of savage beast to jump out from behind a tree, but he slowly figured out that the emptiness of the landscape was not an illusion: there really was _nothing _here besides himself and the lions he was with, not even a tree for anything to hide behind in the first place. As such, he eventually resigned himself to a ready carry, deciding to focus more on finding a contact than the possibility of being eaten. "How did you two ever survive out here?" he asked Vitani as he continued to scan the horizon for signs of life.

"I don't know," she answered. "There's almost no food or water; we had to fight the vultures for most of it, and they never let us get close…they know they've got beaks and claws, and they definitely know how to use them. If I hadn't lived, it certainly wouldn't have been the first time someone's starved to death in the Outlands. Do you see the rock now?"

"Yes, I see it. Let's everyone pick up the pace, I don't want to spend any more time here than I have to."

As Hermann got closer and closer, he began to see more detail in the rock than Vitani and Adila had been heading him towards, but he couldn't tell if there was anyone on or behind it, at least until a lioness's head popped out from the other side. Hermann instinctively dropped to one knee and shouldered his gun, even though his two companions were urging him not to.

"Vitani! Adila! What are you doing here…and who have you got with you?" the unknown lioness asked in a soft, concern-fraught voice as the rest of her emerged from behind the boulders. She started towards the three of them, which immediately prompted the wrong reaction from Hermann.

"_Halt!_" he shouted as he curled his finger around the trigger. "Stay right there…don't move, or I'll fire!"

"Put the gun down!" Adila hissed, "and don't cause such a racket! You don't have to worry about her; she's one of the good ones."

"Who are you?" the lioness asked Hermann as she stared uneasily at the weapon he was carrying. "How do you know my sister and my niece?"

"I'll be asking the questions, not you," Hermann replied, not willing to let himself trust what he had just heard from Adila until he knew at least a bit more. "Tell me, how badly do you want to get out of here?"

"You're the ones who have to get out of here, not me! Vitani, Adila, you and whoever _that _is"—she shot a glance at Hermann—"have got to go back to wherever you came from and stay there. If any of us see you, we're not supposed to let you leave alive."

_I guess that answers the question of whose pride she's in_, Hermann thought to himself. "Answer me!" he said in a louder voice than before. "Do you or do you not want to escape from this place?"

"Yes, of course I do, who would _want _to stay in the Outlands?" the lioness said nervously, looking around to make sure nobody else was eavesdropping.

"And are you in Zira's pride because you want to be, or because of what she'll do to you if you try and split?"

"The second one…almost nobody follows her by their own free choice. But what is it to—

Hermann held his hand up, now sufficiently satisfied that he wasn't being misled, even though he could not dismiss all of his doubts entirely. "Good, that's all I need to know," he said. "Go and find whoever else you can and be back right here with them in one hour, not a minute later. We'll be here waiting for you; if you're late in returning, my offer is invalid."

"You haven't _made_ an offer yet. You haven't even told me who you are!"

"All good things to those who wait. I can help you and the rest of your family members get out safely, but only if you follow every one of my words down to the last detail…and talking of which, that hour I've given you is ticking away as I speak."

Had only Hermann been present for this exchange, the lioness he had been conversing with surely would have never believed him and his intentionally-vague proposals of assistance, but the fact that he had Adila and Vitani along with him—two immediate relatives who she trusted, even though she thought them dead until now—was enough to convince her of Hermann's own trustworthiness, if only for the time being. She bounded off the rock and set out to find the rest of her family.

"Why do you have to be like that?" Vitani asked Hermann with a scowl as her aunt ran off into the distance. "You talked to her like she's no better than Zira."

"Trust me, Vitani, that wasn't even close to what it would sound like if I were talking to Zira. We're not having a conversation between friends; it's an undercover operation to try and save your family. The pleasantries can all come later."

"Let him do the talking," Adila concurred. "We can't afford to mess this up."

_30 minutes later_

Hermann checked his watch. "Half an hour gone," he said, "thirty more minutes to go. If they're not back by then, we'll head for home."

"That won't be necessary," Adila said from where she was sitting on top of the rock, "look, they're already on their way." Coming towards the waiting three was a group of ten lionesses, nine of whom were led by the one Hermann had first spoken with. As they got closer and closer, Hermann kept an eye out for any signs of danger, especially the possibility that Zira had slipped herself into the approaching group, but he saw no torn ears or other immediate causes for alarm. True, there were still flocks of screeching vultures, the occasional animal skeleton on the ground, and gathering distant thunderheads, but in these parts, such sights were no more out of the ordinary than the green trees and herds of antelope back in Simba's lands. Hermann had to keep reminding himself of that fact every time one of the large, black-and-white birds flew overhead, even though he knew full well that they presented absolutely zero danger: he and his companions were alive—for the moment, at least—and the buzzards only ate the dead.

"Stop!" Hermann commanded once the approaching group was sufficiently close to hear him, but still far enough away to give him just a bit of a safety buffer, about ten yards or so. "That's close enough. Is this everybody?" he asked.

"Yes, we're all here as promised, except three others who definitely wouldn't be interested in coming."

"Why not?"

"They're Zira's seconds-in-command. Right now, the four of them together are out patrolling the far border, so there's not much chance of them showing up even if they _did _want to come."

_That makes fourteen total, with ten on our side potentially_, Hermann thought. "Right, all of you pay attention; I'm only going to say this once. My name is Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, but you probably know me better as the 'damned German,' the one your pride leader Zira wants dead…yes, I've heard it all, probably even more than you have. Don't ask me how I know what I know—we haven't got any time for that. All I need to find out is whether or not you—every one of you here in front of me—are willing to accept an offer. I am here on behalf of Kopa's family as their designated Deputy of Security to tell you that we understand your predicament, and to promise you protection, amnesty, and a comfortable life in our lands…if you agree to my conditions, that is."

"A comfortable life in whose lands…yours? We can't go to Germany, we'd be found out!"

"You're not _going _to go to Germany. I meant Simba's lands, not my apartment in Stuttgart. And as far as your being found out, there are ways I can make sure you live through whatever happens. But you still haven't answered my question: do you want to get away from Zira and live out the rest of your lives in peace, or don't you?"

"Yes, we'd do anything to get out of here. Whatever you're asking, we'll do it if it means getting out."

"I'll have you swear to that, on pain of death."

"Can't you tell us what we're swearing to first? And why do you have Adila and Vitani with you? Please, we all want to know."

Hermann was reluctant to divulge his plan in its entirety, but he saw no other option available to him. Reluctantly, he told the assembled group of lionesses how Vitani had escaped the day after her mother's attempt on Kopa's life, and how Adila had done the same just to survive (and had nearly not succeeded). He spoke about how he knew of Zira's plans to finish what she had started, and why he had come here of all places at Vitani's urgent request, so that only those who truly deserved his rifle shots would actually get them. Finally, he laid out his entire plan to get rid of Zira and rescue the remaining members of her pride at once, giving special attention to the part in which he would fire for effect and only for effect. "We're good marksmen, myself especially. You'll be in no danger of getting hit," he said, explaining how the lionesses were to fall over one by one as they were sent in to attack and the gunshots—intentional misses—rang out from above, "and Zira won't be in any danger of surviving. That is, of course, unless you give us even the slightest reason to doubt your allegiance; in that case, it'll be a field day…no mercy, no more missing on purpose. When I said I'll have you swear on pain of death, I meant every word."

"Then I swear, on pain of death, you will have no reason to doubt us."

"And the rest of you? Say it." The rest of the group repeated their leader's words to Hermann's satisfaction.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," one lioness asked. "How will you be able to tell us from the others? Even that torn ear Zira has is pretty hard to spot at night."

"We'll have flashlights to help light things up a bit, but try and think of something you can do set yourselves apart in a discreet way, a subtle mark of some sort that we can use to identify you. When are you all supposed to move out?"

"Four days. We'll be at Pride Rock three days later, at nightfall."

"Is _that _what they call that place? You know, I've never thought to ask what it was called…anyway, we will expect you in one week then. Between now and when you leave, you've got enough time to think of something. Don't forget, say absolutely _nothing_ to anyone, not even a word. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, this conversation never happened, and you never saw a single one of us. If anyone else finds out what just happened here, you may as well spend the time until you leave pondering the true meaning of the phrase 'silent as the grave'. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Inescapably, Mr. Sterlitz. We can't thank you enough for this; we won't disappoint you." The lionesses behind the one speaking showed no signs of disagreement; above all else, they were worried about keeping their excitement and anticipation—not just from seeing Vitani and Adila alive and well, but from being promised a better life in a few short days—unknown to all but themselves.

"Thank me when it's over," Hermann said. "We're out of here."


	23. Das Wandern II

**VIERUNDZWANZIG**

_**Das Wandern II: aus das Brachland entkommen**_

Hermann, Vitani and Adila were walking quickly back to where they had left the car. Behind them, the storm clouds had intensified, and regular thunderclaps shook the hard ground they walked on. At one point, Hermann considered asking Adila if he could ride on her back the rest of the way— walking while holding a rifle in one hand and a cane in the other was no easy task for someone with only one working leg, and on top of that, he had walked more in the past two hours than he normally would in two weeks—but he quickly decided to keep going on his own two feet. The car wasn't far away, and he would have whole the trip back to sit down and take the weight off his leg, followed by a few stolen ibuprofen if things still hadn't improved by then.

"Know what I'm looking forward to when we get back?" Vitani asked Hermann as she stopped for him to catch up.

"I don't know…more drinking?" he answered.

"You're so weird. How do you even drink that stuff to begin with? I took a taste of it last night, and it reminded me of the water in Roberto's pond."

"It's definitely an acquired taste, I'll give you that. I have to ask, though, how did you get your hands—I mean paws—on my Scotch?"

"You kept following me around with the bottle and saying 'have a drink' with this ridiculous goofy grin on your face, so I figured I'd just go ahead and taste some if it got you to go bug someone else," Vitani replied. "You don't remember that?"

"No, I don't…was that the only thing I did?"

"Yes, but Markos got stuck in a tree a few minutes later. For the second time."

"How did you know about the first time? _He _certainly wouldn't have told you, and I'm the only other one who knows."

"Only if you don't count Kopa."

_Oh no …my friend is going to _kill_ me_, Hermann thought, suddenly remembering how he had told Kopa the entire story of the first drunken tree-climbing incident back in medical school, including the details about how Markos had been wearing only the top half of a Santa Claus costume at the time. "Don't ever tell him you know, or he'll go berserk."

"Why not? It's funny, and he wouldn't understand anyway."

"Oh, I beg to differ. If you put the words 'tree' and 'drunk' in the same sentence, he knows _exactly _what you're talking about. I found out the hard way at an international conference in Berlin. Hold on…what are those?"

"What are _what_? Vitani asked, seeing nothing but barren ground on all sides.

"Those." Hermann pointed in front of him with his cane. "They're moving, and it looks like they're coming towards us. What are they?"

"I don't know, probably gazelles or something."

"But nothing like that lives here, just your pride and the resident vultures."

"So maybe it's a lost gazelle. Quit worrying; my family could use the food, and…I take that back, those aren't gazelles at all."

"So what are they then?"

"The only other thing with four legs you'll find out here: it's a bunch of hyenas. Wait! Don't shoot, maybe they haven't seen us. They might just walk right by." Both Vitani and Hermann knew, however, that such a thing wouldn't come to pass: they had already been spotted, and had absolutely nowhere to hide. They kept walking towards the creek, but before long, Hermann found himself staring into six of the ugliest faces he had ever seen.

"Remember how I said we'd try and talk our way out if things turned bad?" Hermann said. "Consider the talking part already done with and failed. _Verschwinde! Go on, beat it!"_

"Maybe they'll let us through without a fight," Adila offered meekly.

"If that's the case," Hermann replied, "then I'll be keeping an eye out for flying pigs on the way home._ Last warning! Get out of the way!_" The only response to Hermann's threat was sinister laughing.

"Where are you three headed in such a hurry?" one of the hyenas asked with a grin. "You, with the accent and the walking stick, why don't you stick around for a while?" Hermann didn't respond.

"He looks tasty. Let's tenderize him!"

Everything happened in a what seemed to be the blink of an eye: a hyena lunged towards Hermann with a growl, jaws wide open, only to crash to the ground in a lifeless heap fractions of a second later: he would never know it, but as soon as his feet left the ground, there was a bullet in the air going the other way. There was no time for him to even hear the bang; the faster rifle round outpaced the sound waves, if only by a few hundredths of a second. When the echoes died away only moments afterwards, all eyes were fixed on the expired hyena on the ground, the unfortunate creature who had just become Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz's first live target.

"Get…out…of the way," Hermann said for the third time, not knowing whether he had just convinced the hyenas to let him through, or unavoidably thrown himself into a three-on-six, now five. "I'll do that to every last one of you if I—

Another hyena was jumping for Hermann's throat before the sentence could ever reach completion, but he too was met in midair by a flying piece of metal, fired by a man who now knew that there was absolutely no option but to quite literally blast his way out. Before the next hyena in line could even think about trying the same thing for a third time, Hermann had loaded and fired once more, and he now saw a clear lane between his group of three and the Mercedes on the far side of the creek. "_Lauft, was ihr könnt!" _he shouted._ "_Run for it!"

For the first time in almost twelve years, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz moved faster than a walk, even faster than a jog. He dropped his cane and ran as if both legs worked perfectly, making as fast as he could for the creek and the waiting car on the other side. He only turned his head back only once, hearing telltale footsteps closing in from behind him and subsequently firing off a rearward shot, after which he could no longer hear anything giving chase. At last, with one final burst of energy, he threw himself over the creek and landed in a heap on the grass. His relief lasted all of two seconds.

"Hermann! Help! _Hermann!_"

"Vitani's trapped! Do something!"

Hermann picked himself up and tried to see where the first voice had come from, only to see Vitani still stuck across the creek, pinned down by the two hyenas he had yet to finish off—one in front of her, one behind, both circling and waiting for the right moment to strike. Hermann's rifle was lying too far from him to waste time retrieving; he had lost his grip and allowed it to cartwheel away upon reconnecting with the ground, leaving himself with no options but to use Markos's old revolver. It would be nowhere near as accurate as the rifle, but it was nevertheless far superior to having no weapon at all.

"Vitani, get down!" he shouted, bracing his right hand across his left forearm. His first shot found its intended resting place; the second shot, however, was not only misdirected, but reminiscent of something Markos might have done, with the slug flying well high and wide. Hermann, whose expression had gone from triumph to horror in the span of a second, was about to shoot again when the one survivor looked at him, then at Vitani (who had already started sprinting the other way), and finally at the body on the ground, and decided to turn and run.

"You're all dead when Zira finds out!" the remaining hyena shouted as he took off. "Dead meat!"

"That's right, keep moving in a dead straight line, you parasite, make it easier for me," Hermann mumbled in German as he hurried over to his rifle and loaded his last round. _Come on, Hermann Wolfgang, don't miss this one…_

Vitani heard the last shell go off as she jumped across the water.

"_Erwischt! _Got him! I can't believe I missed that second shot…Vitani, did they get you anywhere?"

"It's just a few scratches, nothing serious."

"This is a scratch," Hermann said, pointing to where he had scuffed his hand up on some hidden stones following his rather ungraceful reconnection with the ground. "_That_, on the other hand_, _isn't. One of them must have bitten your leg…how did you not ever notice that?"

"Probably the same way you didn't notice _your_ leg," Vitani said, surprisingly unconcerned. "Was I going crazy a few minutes ago, or did I actually see you running?"

"No, you saw correctly: I ran, but it cost me my cane. Still, I suppose that's a fairly small price to pay for just making it out alive. Go ahead and get in the car with Adila; it doesn't look bad at all, but I'll definitely take a better look at you once we get back to…what did they say our home was called again?"

"Wait, wait, what kind of 'better look'? One that involves you and your sharp poky things? Forget it!"

"I can't promise that it will or it won't, but if it's any consolation," he said, pointing to a ripped-out hole in his left pants leg, "look what I did to myself on that crash landing. I look like I've been through a paper shredder." Hermann started to shake the sand and dirt out of his shoes, an undertaking that would have been next to impossible without a cane had he not had the car to rest himself on.

"Nice claws, Sterlitz," Vitani snickered, looking at Hermann's bare right foot. "The girls must be all over you."

"Don't you call me 'Sterlitz'; only Markos gets to call me by my last name! Act civilized and put the word 'Herr' in front if you really want to use my surname."

"OK, Sterlitz."

_Don't go down to her level_, Hermann thought as the car started up and a steady rain began to come down. The adrenalin rush had undeniably saved both him and the younger of his two companions; he only hoped the effects would last until he made it back. "_Auf Wiedersehen, Auslander!"_ he shouted as he threw the car into gear and sped homeward into the fading light.

_Nightfall_

Hermann told Simba what had happened with the hyenas only after explaining the much more positive details of his secret meeting in the Outlands. To Hermann's surprise, Simba did not seem angry in the least, despite Vitani's close call and the shooting match that preceded it. "You're not blaming yourself for any of this, are you?" Simba asked.

"Shouldn't I be?"

"No, you shouldn't, and I thought you especially would have known better than to do that. As you told me not so long ago, '_Sometimes, ve are at fault, und ozer times, ve are ze victims of circumstances beyond our control'_."

"Really? With that much of a German accent?"

"More than that, actually…I just can't replicate it. You still say _und _instead of _and_, even after all this time here. So how's Vitani doing?"

"Oh, she's perfectly fine; I think I've seen rabbit bites that were worse than hers. Still, a bite's a bite, and since hyenas aren't much more than a sewer system on four legs, I couldn't take the chance of anything getting infected…"

"Oh, good luck getting her to co-operate with _that. _Even I know that's just Hermann-speak for pulling out the sharp stuff."

"So does Vitani, for that matter. But you can both relax, as I've already taken care of it."

"You have? How?"

"I had the 'sharp stuff' hidden in my back pocket the whole time, and she never so much as saw me reach for it, that's how. You learn how to do these kinds of things after spending a few months in pediatrics…maybe Doctor Friedlander sticking me there in my second year was a blessing in disguise."

"Wait a second, how could you have done anything at all without her seeing? Vitani doesn't ever turn her back on anyone, not even on Kopa, and he's her best friend. Must be from all that time she spent in the Outlands."

"I never said her back was turned. Her head, on the other hand, was. Markos had a bit of a mishap as he was putting more logs on the fire, and by the time Vitani—all of us, I should say—was done laughing herself hoarse, I could have performed a heart transplant."

"Please tell me he wasn't drunk. Was he drunk?"

"No, and that's the scary part. He was stone cold sober, and he _still _managed to get a red-hot ember straight down the front of his pants. Sometimes, I'm convinced that the only difference between sober Markos and drunk Markos is that he sings even worse when he's been drinking, if that's even possible to begin with."

"You forgot his odd affinity for getting hung up in trees."

"How is it that everyone now knows about that? I'm the only one who's supposed to know!"

"Well, you told Kopa, and he told Vitani, at which point there was no way it was going to stay a secret. Let's both of us head in; I don't think Nala can keep Kopa busy any longer. He's been dying to see you all day." Simba started to walk back into the cave, but Hermann wasn't following him. "Are you coming?" he asked. "There's no point in staying out here in the cold."

"Of course I'd _like _to come," Hermann replied, "if you wouldn't mind filling in as my cane for a few moments. I'll try and find a stick to use tomorrow, but for the time being, I'm essentially stuck where I stand unless someone helps me. It could be worse, though…at least I haven't set myself of fire. Yet." Together, Simba and Hermann walked inside, the latter leaning against the former and stepping even more carefully than usual. Neither of them had expected the day to unfold exactly as it had—in fact, until two days ago, the mere idea of going to the Outlands would have seemed entirely preposterous to both— but with the prospect of food, fire, and friends beckoning, an unspoken consensus arose that for a few hours at least, discussing the trip and all its particulars could wait.


	24. Am Kamin

AN: sorry for the multiple uploads; I had to fix the German bits!

**FÜNFUNDZWANZIG**

_**Am Kamin**_

Hermann hardly had enough time to chew and swallow each bite of what he was eating before someone lobbed a new question his way about the day's developments. The rain had started to come down even harder than when he was leaving the Outlands, and a strong breeze was blowing up, making the air seem even wetter and colder than it already was. Markos had already built a fire to give Hermann some much-needed light to work by, as well as to cook the evening's meal (even a few of the lions had taken a liking to grilled meat, something they had never tasted before being introduced to human cuisine), but even though both of these tasks had already been accomplished, he decided to keep it burning for at least a few hour longer, even brighter and hotter than before. He had good reason to do so, which was not lost on anyone enjoying the fire's light and heat: as the storm swooped in, it had quickly turned a hot African summer day into a late autumn night somewhere in the Swiss Alps.

Hermann thought that perhaps he and his friends were trapped inside by the same storm from after his fight with the six hyenas, but he quickly excluded this possibility, remembering that there had been no wind in the earlier storm. The clouds currently over his head, however, were unleashing as much wind as they were rain. He had seen similar weather many times in the past, when a thunderstorm or two barreled its way through Stuttgart, but even the German skies' worst couldn't compare with this. Still, despite the fury of the storm outside, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD was rather peacefully isolated from the surrounding chaos, along with the five others—Simba, Nala, Kopa, Vitani, and Markos, who was looking around in vain for any leftover liquor—he had begun to consider his extended family. Smoke from the fire in front of him slowly trickled upward through a crack in the roof, an opening just large enough to let the smoke out while keeping any water and wind from entering, while the flames coated the walls and everyone within them—four lions and two humans, all lying on the two mattresses around the fire and covered up in blankets—in a warm orange glow.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Simba said, eyeing Hermann's sweater, "what do those words mean?"

"These words?" Hermann said. "Universität Stuttgart…that was where Markos and I attended university." Simba gave him an understandably confused look. "It's where we became doctors," Hermann rephrased.

"Do you have a mate back home, Hermann?" Kopa asked. "Do humans have those?"

Hermann laughed. "Sort of, but we don't call them that. And yes, I have a girlfriend. Her name's Anezka; she's Czech."

"She checks what?"

"No, _Czech, _C-Z-E-C-H_. _Her country is the Czech Republic." A huge bolt of lightning suddenly flashed from outside, briefly filling the entire room with a white-hot magnesium light. "_Whoa! Did you see that?"_ As was usual for him when surprised or caught off guard, Hermann's exclamation was in his native tongue.

"Yeah, of course I saw it!" Kopa answered, no differently than if Hermann had been speaking to him in English.

"You understood me, did you? And can you say what you just said in German as well?" _I've stumped the kid this time_, Hermann thought, only to be proven wrong seconds later:

"_Ja, Hermann. Natürlich, ich hab es gesehen._"

"That's just incredible; I've never seen anyone catch on so quickly." Hermann looked over at Simba as he ruffled the hair on top of Kopa's head. "You've got a smart one here, _mein Herr_. I can definitely see where he gets it from!"

"Don't, you're embarrassing me!" Simba replied. "Hmm…looks like Vitani has either turned in for the night, or she wasn't too appreciative of that lightning bolt just now." Hermann looked to his right and saw a cub-shaped lump under a blanket, in the exact same place where only moments ago, Vitani had been lying down next to Nala. Kopa didn't even try to resist the urge to tease his friend:

"Tani's afraid of liiiight-niiiing…"

"I am not, Kopa!" shot back a slightly muted voice from underneath the quilt. "I was just, uh, looking for something under here."

"Like your dignity?"

"_Mom, make him stop!_"

"Kopa, be nice," Nala said. "Everyone's afraid of something…you included."

"Nah, nothing scares me anymore!"

"Oh really?" Nala asked with a smile. "Then why is it that whenever Hermann switches out the bandages on your side, you can't bring yourself to look at what's underneath, even though we've both told you it doesn't look so bad anymore?"

Kopa could tell his mother's question was meant in kind. "Uh…because every time he does it, I get some dust in my eyes and I have to close them."

"You get dust in _both _of them? At once?"

"OK, alright!" Kopa conceded. "I _know_ it doesn't hurt any more, but I still don't want to look at it!"

"Good idea," Vitani said, still covered up in anticipation of the next lightning bolt. "It still looks like you sat on a land mine back there."

"_Mom!"_

"Enough, you two! Vitani, behave yourself, and Kopa, don't you go making fun of her to begin with. Both of you, apologize to each other."

"Sorry, Vitani."

"Me too," Vitani said as she poked her head back out. "I didn't mean it."

"I know," Kopa replied. "Hermann, what did you say Markos is so afraid of? You said he can't even think about it without feeling sick."

"That would be beer shortages," Hermann said. "We've never had one in half a millennium of German history, of course, but that's still his version of the end of the apocalypse; it must have been that documentary on American prohibition that did him in. I'll even prove it to you…watch this. _Markos, they've run out of beer in Bavaria. I heard it over the radio as I was driving back._"

Markos gasped out loud in shock, actually looking like he was going to pass out, but then he remembered one essential fact: "Wait a second…that car doesn't have a radio."

"No. It doesn't."

"…Go to hell, Sterlitz."

"Kopa, don't repeat that."

"Sorry, Hermann, I've already heard you say it at least twice."

Another flash of lightning flickered outside, followed by a strong gust of wind. Hermann could have sworn that he felt the cave swaying back and forth. "Do you get weather like this often?" he asked Simba. "The last time I was in a storm like this, it was snowing, not raining, and we were on a mountain somewhere in Switzerland."

"We get storms, but only a few that are this big," Simba replied. "What were you doing in Switzerland?"

"We were on a skiing trip there; it's the one sport I can still do with my bad leg. The day we were supposed to go back to Stuttgart, a blizzard came through and shuttered the airport; there was so much snow, we couldn't even get out of our hotel rooms; the streets were all closed off. Until they cleared the roads, we got stuck inside with no power and no heat, but luckily, we had a fireplace and more than enough wood to keep the room heated. Truth be told, it wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds: we were all bundled up in the dark around that fire just like we are now, sitting there drinking and singing, telling jokes and old stories. We were almost disappointed when we actually had to leave the next morning…there was a kind of camaraderie between all of us that you just don't see every day. And I'm no psychologist, but I think the fire had something to do with it. There's something about sitting by one that makes the human mind feel at home, even if it's hundreds of miles away."

"How about one of those stories, then? In fact, I'd rather like to hear one from your friend over there, he's probably got some interesting tales to tell."

"You mean Markos? Ach_, _be careful what you wish for…but if you insist, I'll translate. _Markos, the boss wants you to tell everyone a story. Why don't you tell them what happened that night in the Netherlands?" _It was a story Hermann could have told from memory, a rather harmless yet amusing mix-up during a professional summit at which Markos picked up the wrong room key after a nighttime dip in the hotel pool, walked half-naked and dripping wet into an already-occupied suite, and had to spend the next forty minutes convincing a distraught Belgian family and four members of the Amsterdam Police Department that he wasn't some sort of stalker. Unbeknownst to Hermann, however, this trip had not been Markos's only excursion to Holland, and it most definitely was not the trip Markos was thinking of when Hermann mentioned the "night in the Netherlands".

"Are you sure you want me to tell _that _story?" he said. "I'm not sure this is the right place for it."

"Why not? It's a great story, they'll love it! Go ahead, I'll translate."

"OK, if that's _really _the one you really want to hear. So a few years ago, a few colleagues and I took a trip to Amsterdam."

"_He and some friends from the hospital took a trip together to Amsterdam…"_

"The first night we got there, we went straight to the bar and got raving drunk."

_I don't remember that being part of the story_, Hermann thought, but he translated anyway: "_They all went to the bar the first night and had a lot to drink."_

"And…well…we got so drunk, we decided to ring a call girl service."

Hermann stared and gaped for a few seconds, not believing what he had just heard. "_And…they all woke up the next morning with horrible hangovers. The end." _

"That was…interesting," Simba said, knowing that there was something deliberately lost in the translation. "Well, gentlemen, it's been a most enjoyable evening, but I know someone"—he looked over at Kopa—"who needs to be getting to sleep. Kopa…bedtime; that goes for you too, Vitani."

"Aw, come on, dad, I'm not _that _tired." Kopa's attempt to hide the yawn that cropped up midway through was completely useless.

"Sorry, until you're completely better, you're going to bed early."

"I'll make you a promise," Hermann said to Kopa. "Do as your father says, and we can all do this again tomorrow night—I'd quite forgotten just how much I enjoy this kind of thing. Deal?"

"OK, OK, deal." Kopa got up and trotted over to a spot between his parents, crawled under a blanket so that only his head stuck out one end, and was asleep in minutes. Simba, Vitani, and Markos quickly followed suit, the last of the three snoring with enough force to bring down the walls as soon as he closed his eyes. When Hermann got up to put a few final logs on the fire, he saw that Nala was looking at her son asleep at her side, and that she seemed to have tears in her eyes. Hermann couldn't figure out why. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Do you know what it's like to almost lose your own son?" she replied.

"Not my own son, no, but I've had one or two children in the hospital who barely pulled through. I can only imagine how it feels to be the parent in a situation like that; it's hard enough just being the doctor."

"Well, I hope you never have to know what it's like," Nala said. "Sometimes, I get to thinking of what else could have happened to him that night if you and Markos hadn't come along, about how helpless and scared I felt, and I can't help but get upset—you understand, I'm sure. But then, I always remember that what we were all fearing _might_ happen, never did happen in the end. My little Kopa survived…he lived." Nala's expression shifted from worry to happiness. "And I think we all know who we have to thank for that."

"I just did my job, nothing more and nothing less," Hermann replied, ever humble and professional. "It's what I promised to do when they handed me my degree. Everyone else in that room took the same oath to do the same thing."

"And did that oath include anything about protecting your patients' families as well as your patients? Did you promise to put yourself in horrible danger for their sakes?"

"Well…no. It didn't say anything to that effect."

"And the music lessons? Did you swear to use everything you know about singing to help your patients get well again?"

"No, nothing like that either."

"I didn't think so…you never swore to do any of that. And still, you laughed with Kopa when he laughed, sang to him when he hurt, and reassured him when he was afraid. Look around, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz. Take some credit for once: someone who's 'just doing their job' doesn't do that much or go that far. That person would have left for Germany a long time ago; he might have even ignored our cries for help entirely, but _you_ didn't do any of those things. Because that's just not you."

Nala saw that Hermann was still trying to act as if he hadn't done much of anything for anyone.

"You two treated Kopa like he was one of your own, as if he were your son as much as he is mine," she added. "It was in you from the beginning; you don't need to swear an oath or take a pledge to make it true. And I'll never, ever forget or stop being grateful for that fact, not until the day I die."

"I suppose you're right…it's just that Friedrich told me time and again to never let anything go too much to my head; that's the reason why I've always been that way. I don't want it to distract me from what's most important here. Look at him, he looks so peaceful, so content…"

"I wonder what he's dreaming about," Nala whispered as she gently pulled Kopa in just a bit closer. "Maybe you're giving him a singing lesson."

"Who knows, but I'm sure it's a happy dream. And speaking of which, I think I'll turn in for the night. Thank you as always for the food; we'd still be eating stolen potato chips without it!"

"Hermann, before you go to bed…Simba and I have been talking, and we think it's time we made it official."

"You think it's time you made _what _official?"

"Your induction. You and Markos are going to become members of our pride."

"Us? Wow, I…I don't know what to say, except that I'm incredibly honored. What is it we're to do?"

"There will be a ceremony before you leave; we'll fill you in on the particulars later."

"When is this ceremony supposed to happen; is there anything special you need from us?"

"As I believe you've said before, _all good things to those who wait_."


	25. Allzeit bereit

AN: _Rudelfelsen _is a crude translation of "Pride Rock."

**SECHSUNDZWANZIG **

_**Allzeit bereit**_

_Dämmrung will die Flügel spreiten,_

_Schaurig rühren sich die Bäume,_

_Wolken ziehn wie schwere Träume—_

_Was will dieses Grau'n bedeuten?_

Dusk prepares to spread its wings,

The trees rustle ominously,

Clouds approach like heavenly dreams—

What does this horror mean?

~Joseph von Eichendorff

_Six days later_

The days following Hermann's trip to the Outlands had been a nonstop flurry of preparations, target practice, and countless dry runs using Nala, Kopa and Vitani as the allied Outlanders and substituting the word "_bang!_" for live gunfire. As he had promised, Hermann had continued building his fires at night and inviting everyone else to join him around it; once word got around, it wasn't long before most of the pride wanted in, which made for a rather tight squeeze when each and every one of them tried to find a spot to sit. Hermann went to bed and woke up with his diagrams and written plans, refining and recalculating down to the last detail until he was satisfied with the results. If he wasn't counting out rounds or scribbling all over whatever surface was nearest to him, including his own hands and arms, he was talking with Simba or Nala or translating something into German so that Markos could understand. On the upside, however, Hermann had a cane to use again. Not the same one he had brought along from Germany—he was in no hurry at all to retrieve it, as it was lying right where he had dropped it in the Outlands—but it was a good enough cane nonetheless, a weathered piece of deadwood he found by an old tree nearby. Still, as there was no place for him to rest his hand on top of the stick, he had a bit of difficulty learning how to walk with it, and he resultantly found his gait was even more lopsided than before. It made him particularly easy to knock over, a fact which hadn't been lost at all on Kopa or Vitani, or Markos for that matter (the first two readily amused themselves by pouncing on him at all hours, while the third was content to chuck rocks in his direction and then act completely uninvolved).

On this particular day, the day Zira and her pride was supposed to return after sunset, Hermann was out taking a short walk. He would never have done so had he not been told more than once, and by more than one concerned speaker, that he needed to go and clear his head for a bit, that everything that could have been done to prepare had already been accomplished and now there remained only the unpleasant matter of waiting until nightfall. Still, even though he ultimately relented and went for his walk, Hermann was still thinking things over as he went along, mentally running through every possible scenario that might unfold.

A quick and unplanned reunion with the ground immediately broke him from his thought process. When he brushed the dust out of his hair and rolled over onto his back, he saw a familiar face looking down at him.

"Gotcha. Again."

"Do I look like an antelope to you, Kopa?"

"No."

"And does your constantly barreling into me accomplish anything besides getting me covered with dirt?"

"Nope."

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"It's fun."

"Fun, is it? Then let's see how much you enjoy it!" Hermann grinned and quickly sprang up on his one good foot for a spur-of-the-moment rugby tackle, but he once again found himself on his back after a few seconds, this time with Kopa standing triumphantly on top of him.

"OK, how did you possibly manage that?" he asked, exasperated. "I had the height advantage, the size advantage and the element of surprise! What's your secret?"

"You _really_ want to know how I did it?"

"More than anything in the world. Tell me."

"It's because you stink at pinning." Kopa got into a low crouch, immediately expecting another misdirected effort from Hermann, but he was a bit surprised to see the would-be assailant do nothing but sit up and lean back on his hands.

"I wasn't always like this, you know," Hermann said. "I used to be one of the best players on our football team. I could run three kilometers in ten and a half minutes, and chase down passes that even professional players would have had trouble getting to. They all told me I could have gone professional as well, and then…well, you know the rest."

"Does it ever make you sad when you think about those days?" Kopa asked. "I bet you'd give anything to get your leg working again."

"Sure, I miss it," Hermann said, "but I was rather lucky, all things considered. As I told you before, more than one person said I'd lose my leg completely. And if I hadn't broken it, chances are I'd never have gone to medical school and become a doctor."

"Why wouldn't you have gone to school?"

"I was banking on making my living playing professional football, but when that wasn't tenable anymore, my parents decided I'd need a good-paying job. I came from a whole family of doctors and professors, so they figured I might as well carry on the tradition; everyone in our family, going all the way back to my grandparents' generation, has a doctorate degree of some sort. I wound up following in my family's footsteps, even if I didn't always intend to do so." Hermann got back to his feet. "So what are you doing out here?" he said. "I thought I gave you plenty to keep you busy…enough at least so that you'd have better things to do than jump on me from behind."

"You did, but I finished already."

"You finished practicing your part of the concert?"

"Yeah, I'm an expert!"

"Are you now? I'll be the judge of that…let's hear it."

"Um…OK…" Kopa knew he was in a bit of a bind—as Hermann already suspected, he hadn't put in nearly as much time as he could have—but he was eager to impress regardless. "Here goes…_Anfangs wollt ich fa—_

"Stop!"

"What?"

"You went up, but it goes down there. Again."

"_Anfangs wollt ich fast verz—_

"_Stop!_"

"What now?"

"Same thing. You're going up a whole step when you should be going down. It's the same interval, but the other way around. Did you _really _practice it like I told you to?" It was an honest question, but Kopa could tell from Hermann's expression that he wasn't cross.

"OK, I tried, I really did," Kopa admitted sheepishly, "but it's just so hard. I know the words; it's reading the notes that I still have trouble with. Can we go back and do it together after Markos is finished with whatever it is he's got planned for you?"

"No problem." _If nothing else, it'll take my mind of tonight_, Hermann thought. "What has Markos got planned for me? Did _he _send you out to get me?"

"Sort of. He said he wanted to talk with you to show you something, so I told him I'd go find you."

"And bowl me over while you're at it?"

"That too. Let's go!"

_Back at Pride Rock_

_That ought to do it_, Markos thought as he finished tore off a length of tape. _It's a work of genius, I can't wait until Hermann sees—_

"What in God's green Earth is _that?_"

"Ah, you're back! It's your rifle; I made some modifications to it," Markos replied, knowing his friend would react exactly as he had. "You now have a bayonet and a light."

"So what you're saying is, you've made a Swiss Army knife out of my perfectly good, evenly balanced, precision-built Remington?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Hey, don't knock it until you test it for yourself. I'm particularly proud of the flashlights; I don't think you would have ever thought of that."

"No, I normally only think of things that _work_. Have you been drinking again?"

"I wish; I could use a bit of the liquid courage right about now. Look, just humor me for once…point your gun at that wall there, the one where the sun isn't hitting it." Hermann rolled his eyes and picked up the rifle. "What do you see?" Markos asked him.

"Nothing," Hermann answered. "That wall's completely dark." Markos then hit the flashlight's switch, and a beam of light lit up the spot Hermann was aimed at.

"Well? How's that?"

"It's…actually, it's pretty good. So this light goes wherever I aim the gun?"

"That's the idea. It won't be as bright from a distance, but you'll still see more with it than without it. Plus, we'll have the moonlight, and if things get a bit too close for comfort, you've got that knife at the end of the barrel."

"Did you put all this stuff on with duct tape?"

"Of course I did…you know the rule, 'if it moves and it shouldn't, use duct tape'. Admit it, it's a great idea."

"OK."

"OK what? Say the words."

"It's a great idea."

"Wow, that was good, did you hurt yourself?"

"Shut up. Is there anything else you've invented I should know about, or can I get back to helping Kopa with his lessons?"

"Just one more thing, but have something to eat first. You've been in a right state for two days now." Markos tossed a bag of airplane pretzels over to Hermann, along with a metal flask.

"Whisky! Thank God!"Hermann eagerly took the top off the flask and swallowed a huge gulp, only to discover that the there was nothing inside but pure water. "What the hell? This is H2O…where's the whisky?"

"We drank it."

"And the beer?" Markos shook his head.

"What about rum? Scotch? Bourbon? Vodka?"

"All of it, gone."

"_Why's it all gone?"_

"It's been drunk, that's why! We drank every last drop of beer, Scotch, whisky, and rum you smuggled into your suitcase, so it's good old-fashioned water for us until the airplane touches down in Germany. If you're that desperate for something to calm your nerves, go through all the prescriptions you stole from the pharmacy. Maybe you swiped a vial of anti-anxiety medication along with everything else."

"Even the strong stuff wouldn't work for me now. What is it you wanted me to see? I've eaten as much of these things as I can."

"It's out here. Follow me." Hermann followed his friend outside and immediately saw something amiss: his German flag was apparently gone.

"Where's the flag?" he asked. "It was here this morning; did it blow away overnight? I didn't hear any big wind gusts…"

"No worries, it hasn't gone anywhere," Markos replied. "Turn around."

"There's nothing there," Hermann said once he had taken a good look behind him. "That's the cave we just walked out of; I would have seen it if you'd stashed it inside. What are you playing at this time?"

"I'm not playing at anything. It's up there…_all _the way up there."

Hermann looked a bit higher, and upon still seeing nothing, lifted his gaze all the way to the highest point of the tallest rock, a narrow but high-reaching expanse of stone that towered over the rest of the pride's home. There was no way he could have ever envisioned anyone climbing it; the facing side where it abutted the cave was a weathered-smooth rock wall, cliff-like in appearance and nearly vertical from bottom to top, while the other side was a series of uneven outcroppings on an unforgiving incline. And yet, there at the very top, blowing in the breeze was Hermann's German flag, its improvised stick-pole wedged firmly into a small crag.

"This is your handiwork, is it?"

"Well we both know _you _couldn't have put it there. Starting tonight and ending tomorrow morning, the place formerly known as Pride Rock is now…_Fort Rudelfelsen, _the world's newest German defense post."

"You do realize that most defense posts are…how should I say it…defensible? Most of them have a trained military garrison on site; we have a pride of lions and the cast of 'ER'."

"OK, it _is_ probably the worst-defended fort in human history, I'll give you that. But more to the point, I wanted you, the both of us, in fact, to be able to see our flag no matter where we wind up tonight. Just as a reminder of why we're here and who we're fighting for."

"What's that supposed to mean? Unless the Bundestag has just granted German citizenship to Simba and the rest of the pride—that's a _German _flag, after all—I'm not following you."

Markos sighed. "You know, Sterlitz, for someone who graduated summa and had a residency in the bag before they even handed out the diplomas, you can be awfully thick at times. All the crazy stuff you've done these past two weeks…don't even try to tell me you haven't been doing it for Friedrich as much as for anyone else. I haven't forgotten who you dedicated that flag to the day you learned about his death."

Hermann didn't try to agree or disagree. He hated being cornered in conversation, especially when he knew that every last thing the other party had said was completely true.

"You know what I think?" Markos continued. "I think you went into protective overdrive when you heard about the bombing because you knew you couldn't get back at whoever sent that package to the hospital. But you _could _do the next best thing…you could stop another equally pointless death from happening, at the hands of someone just as cruel and heartless as our mystery bomber. Look, I know as well as you do that nothing's going to bring Friedrich back, but if you can look up there tonight and get a bit of inspiration, then as far as I'm concerned, Friedrich Ross isn't dead yet."

Markos could tell Hermann was still harboring some sort of skepticism, and he figured he knew the root of it. "If you're wondering how you'll ever see it in the dark, I've taken care of that. I put our camp lantern at the base of the pole; once the sun goes down, the flag will be lit from the front. They'll be able to see it from quite a distance out, and the message is pretty simple, regardless of whose side they're on: that we're open for business."

Hermann knew that to a pride of attacking lions, seeing a colored flag above Pride Rock (or whatever name the structure might be carrying if Markos had his way in the hours to come) would carry almost no meaning, if they would even be able to see it in the dark at all. Certainly they wouldn't make the connection that Markos was implying—that the defenders were flying their national colors as a sign of strength and resolve—but Hermann let himself ignore the fact that the symbolism would be, for the most part, lost. And he wasn't about to try and convince his friend that Friedrich's death in the recent attack on German soil had nothing to do with his efforts to date; such a statement would have constituted the biggest, most boldfaced lie of his life. "Who would have thought we'd get ourselves into anything like this?" he ultimately said with a hint of a smile.

"Not me," Markos replied. "My money was on you getting jailed for shoplifting mouthwash from the drugstore."

"I told you a million times, I forgot it was in my pocket." Clouds were beginning to build themselves in, along with a steadily growing breeze. "She's definitely coming," Hermann said. "You don't get weather like this without something bad about to go down. What are you staring at over there?"

"Giant crocodile at three o'clock," Markos replied nonchalantly, as if such a sight were completely normal to both him and his friend. He watched, more in awe than fright, as a familiar neighbor, even bigger-looking out of the water than in, strolled up to him and his friend.

"_Buenas noches, amigos_. I come, as promised."

"Kopa and Simba weren't kidding," Markos whispered as the newcomer slowly went around a corner to look for the rest of the pride. "One, he really is huge, and two, that's got to be the strongest Spanish accent and the weirdest voice I've ever heard in my life...sort of like a snake crossed with Don Quixote de la Mancha."

"I can definitely see how he managed to carry Adila all the way here," Hermann said in German. "He could have probably carried two lions her size without—

"Get the kids inside!" a frantic voice interrupted from out of sight. "We've got crocs!"

"He's with us!" Hermann shouted back. "Whoever that was, turn off your panic button!"

"I can't wait to see Zira's expression when she's suddenly face-to-face with _him_," Markos said with a grin upon hearing the previous exchange. "We could honestly charge admission for that…a lioness who thinks she's the epitome of evil, getting chased around by Roberto like a frightened pussycat."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Hermann replied. "If everything goes the way I've planned it, Zira won't get the chance to see him in the first place."

"That's _exactly_ why I'm getting ahead of myself. Nothing ever goes according to plan when you're the one doing the planning. Just stay sharp tonight, OK? No matter what happens, keep your head on straight. I'm going inside to divide up the shells. Can you stay out here for five minutes?"

"No problem; go ahead." Markos jogged inside, leaving Hermann looking out over the savanna as a fresh gust of wind blew through. _Don't miss, Hermann Wolfgang, _he thought for the second time that week. _Don't miss_.


	26. Krieg

AN: this chapter will be uploaded in two parts for length consideration

**SIEBENUNDZWANZIG**

_**Krieg (I)**_

_Was heut gehet müde unter,_

_Hebt sich morgen neu geboren._

_Manches geht in Nacht verloren -_

_Hüte dich, sei wach und munter!_

What today goes wearily down

Will lift itself tomorrow newly born.

Much goes astray at night -

Beware, be alert and wide awake!

_1800 hrs_

Hermann looked at his watch. _Three hours longer_, he thought. He hadn't given up his lookout post; it had been continuously manned all day, if not by himself, then by Markos, and if not by him, then by a sharp-eyed pride member. They were all waiting, waiting for the night which would decide not only the fate of Simba's pride, but that of the Outlanders and Kopa's two human rescuers from abroad. Hermann hadn't dared mention a word of what had happened, or what was about to take place, to anyone in Germany. He would have been able to find a telephone by driving half an hour or so into one of the villages, a fact which Simba had made him well aware of ever since his return, but to call home would have been almost treasonous. _Yeah, we're here in Kenya waiting to be eaten alive by lions_, he pictured himself saying to the office secretary. Then it would only be a matter of time before the cars arrived to take him back to the airport, leaving the pride left to fend for themselves when their need was greatest.

"I'm back," Markos said as he walked up to relieve Hermann of his duties. "I'll spell you for a while. Look at that sunset…a completely red sky. What is it they say in English about a red sunset?"

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight," Hermann replied, first in English, then in German. "If only we were sailing, then it might bring us some good luck."

"Believe me, Sterlitz, you don't want to go sailing in this part of the world, unless it's been your lifetime ambition to get caught up in a third-world remake of _Pirates_. Are you going to get down from there, or what?" Hermann slowly climbed off the small boulder serving as his lookout spot as Markos stepped up.

"What's that clinking around?" Hermann asked. "What the heck are you wearing? Chain mail?"

"I wish," Markos replied. "It's our shells; I stuffed them in my pockets. Figured they'd be safer there than lying around the cave, just in case that nature special was right about crocodiles eating anything and everything."

"And you were going to tell me this _when_, exactly?"

"Eventually. Here, take these…one for you, nineteen for me." He dropped one round in Hermann's outstretched hand and waited a few seconds before giving him nine more. "And there's one other thing I've got which ought to interest you." Markos reached into his other pocket and took out two small shampoo bottles, the kind one might find in a cheap hotel or in a giveaway bag. He tossed one to Hermann, and kept the other.

"You're carrying toiletries around?" Hermann said, not knowing what to make of it. "How exactly is that going to help us?"

"Take the bottle cap off." Hermann shrugged, unscrewed the top, and took a sniff. The liquid inside clearly wasn't shampoo. "You actually put hooch in here? So _that's _why you went through so much shampoo when we were in the hotel in Berlin…to smuggle the 100-Euro vodka out of the mini fridge!"

"Brilliant, Holmes."

"Why didn't you tell me we had this before?"

"I figured you'd need it more now than you did then. Go ahead and take a swig; nobody's watching."

"You certainly don't have to ask me twice. _Prost!_" Hermann tipped his head back and put the bottle to his lips. He had the contents halfway down when a loud voice caused him to immediately drop the plastic vial and spit out what was left in his mouth.

"_Dad! Hermann and Markos are drinking again!"_

"Kopa!" Hermann exclaimed as he tried to kick the shampoo bottle behind him and out of sight. "I didn't…see you there. Aren't you and Vitani supposed to be inside?"

"Zira isn't supposed to show up until sundown," Kopa replied. "But we wanted to ask you, can we be outside with you guys when it all happens, instead of hiding inside by ourselves?"

"Absolutely not, out of the question," Hermann replied as soon as Kopa had finished speaking. "It's far too great a risk for you two to be out there with us." Kopa frowned gloomily and looked down at his feet. "Look, Kopa, I'm not trying to be nasty with you," Hermann said in a different tone, "but this isn't going to be anything you're used to. Things go wrong, plans change…and if Zira gets to you, or to Vitani for that matter, she's not going to take any chances. My job is to protect you and your family, and the best way for me to do that is to have you and your friend out of sight where it's safe."

"But I promise we won't get in the way! We could stay up above with you, where nobody can get to us. And don't you think the cave is the first place they'll come looking for us? I mean, isn't that why they're coming here in the first place? To kill me?" Kopa's words were painfully frank, and Hermann realized that he more than had a point: there was no way out of the cave except for the one entrance, and if that was blocked off, anyone cornered inside would be as good as dead. It would be guarded, of course, by the firing line and the rest of the pride, but even one enemy slipping through would surely spell disaster.

"You will follow every word I say down to the last letter," Hermann said after a somewhat lengthy pause. Kopa beamed, knowing his request was about to be granted. "If I tell you to go back inside, you go back inside. If I tell you to stay put when you want to run, you don't move an inch; if I tell you to run, you run, even if it doesn't look dangerous. To the best of your ability, if you must speak, you will speak in German so that both Markos and I can understand you…I've heard you, and you're more than capable. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yep," Kopa replied, "I got it. And don't worry about telling Vitani what you just told me; she's been behind you the whole time."

Hermann turned around and saw that sure enough, Vitani was standing directly behind him. "How do you do that?" he asked her. "I didn't even hear you walk up. And where's Adila?"

"I didn't survive in the Outlands by being noticeable," she answered. "And Adila's with the other lionesses and Simba, going over your plan for the twentieth time. Hey, what's that?"

"That?" Hermann saw that Vitani was looking at the discarded shampoo bottle, which had tipped over and spilled a bit of the vodka inside. "That's…water."

"Oh good, I'm thirsty."

"Wait, don't drink that…ooooh dear…"

Hermann watched as Vitani licked up a bit of what had spilled out, and her face progressed from normal to confused to utterly nauseated. "_Pfeh! _I'm poisoned!" she yelled as she started licking every available surface to get the taste out of her mouth. "What kind of water _is _that?"

"Uh, it went bad, that's why I threw it out," Hermann replied. "Bug Markos for some water if you're thirsty; he'll be on lookout duty for a while. I've got to go think things over for a bit…again."

Hermann quickly walked off to avoid any further rebuke from Vitani, and began to review the most recent developments, the latest in an interminable series of revisions. Kopa and Vitani would bunker in with himself and Markos, leaving the cave entirely empty, completely devoid of anyone or anything. This important bit of knowledge, however, would not be available to anyone else but the defending team, meaning that the Outsiders would still expect the cubs to be holed up inside, and would thus be tempted to go inside themselves. Why not exploit this temptation, Hermann reasoned, and use it to his advantage? In the span of less than a minute, what had begun as an exercise in worst-case scenario avoidance rapidly evolved into a rather ingeniously conceived trap: the cave wouldn't have to be empty after all. Someone else entirely— someone the Outlanders would never expect to see in a hundred years—could easily lie in wait and take the cubs' place. Someone who would be in absolutely no danger from even the most ferocious lion…someone more than capable of biting back.

_1900 hrs_

"What does your watch say, Markos?" Hermann was back from his errand.

"Nineteen-zero-one," Markos replied. "By our estimates, Zira and her crew show up at twenty-one-zero-zero. Sundown. I just wish I could get this stupid thing off of military mode."

"Is it that difficult for you to subtract twelve? Twenty-one hundred hours, that's nine o'clock at night. Wait a second, where do you think you're off to?"

"You're here to take over for me, aren't you? I'm going for a break."

"Not yet you're not. First, hand me that rifle you've got."

"_Another _weapons check?" Markos threw up his hands after handing his rifle off. "For God's sake, Hermann, you've done this five times already! The bolt isn't sticking, the gun goes 'click' when you pull the trigger…it's working fine!"

"I'm sure works fine," Hermann said. "And I bet it would work even better if it were actually loaded."

"What are you talking about? Of course that gun's loaded."

"With what…invisible bullets?" Hermann pulled the bolt back. "Look, there's nothing inside here! When you heard the 'click' when you tested the trigger, which I assume was the last time you actually handled this thing, that should have told you the gun was empty! Right now, all you've got is a metal pipe attached to a stick. And how's our bunker coming along? Is it ready?"

"That's supposed to be a bunker? It's quite clearly a stack of rocks on top of another stack of rocks; you could knock it over just by breathing on it wrong. But since you're asking, we've already made the necessary modifications to it. Kopa's up there checking it over one last time."

"You sent _Kopa _to inspect it? What if he falls? What if he re-injures himself? Just because he's better now doesn't mean he should be…"

"And what if I get squashed by a falling piano? Calm down, Sterlitz; of all the things to be worried about right now, what you just told me doesn't begin to make the list. When did you want to have the meeting with everyone else?"

Hermann shot a glance upward, just in case there really was a plummeting Steinway with his name on it. "In half an hour," he said. "After that, this place goes on full alert: both of us take the watch together, the pride sets up on either side of us, and we plant our little surprise in the cave. Get Kopa down from there and meet me inside with everyone else in thirty minutes."

"Yes, _mein Führer._"

"WHAT?"

"Nothing. _Hermann_."

_2045 _

Hermann's meeting with the pride had been, in essence, an experiment in controlled chaos. Everyone seemed to have question upon question, and eventually, the master planner had to confess that he simply didn't have an answer to each and every conceivable scenario. Nevertheless, quiet confidence and unquiet gratitude seemed to be the order of the evening: after going over the most important details one final time, including Hermann's new plans to spring a trap from inside the cave, the pride erupted in hurrahs and bravos. But no one was cheering now. Pride Rock was almost totally silent and dark, the only sound and light coming from the wind and the moon. Together, all eyes watched and waited, looking for something, anything, that might tip them off to Zira's arrival.

"See anything yet?" Kopa whispered from where he was sitting behind Hermann.

"_Nein_. _Sei geduldig_…be patient."

"You think they're really going to come tonight?" Vitani's ears pricked up at Kopa'S question; she knew as well as everyone else did that the conditions of Hermann's amnesty offer to the Outlanders were specific down to the minute. If the rest of her family didn't arrive when they were supposed to, she would most likely have no option but to cover her eyes while the bullets flew, all of them intentional hits.

"I hope, for all of our sakes, that they come as promised," Hermann replied, looking up first at the moon to gauge how much light he had, and then behind him where, sure enough, Markos's flag-lantern combination was working perfectly. Earlier that day, nobody had been successful (as was fully expected) in persuading Simba to temporarily change the name of his pride's home from Pride Rock to something else of slightly more militaristic inclination—Markos kept pushing for "Fort Rudelfelsen," while Hermann fought equally hard for "Fort Friedrich," but in the end, the original moniker stuck. After all, each and every defender knew that names would be rather superfluous in the end. Inspiration would truly come not from a name, but from within—from the memory of a dear friend and a wounded country, or a son nearly lost and then saved, or a pride to defend and protect from harm.

"I'm sure they'll be here, Vitani," Kopa said quietly. "Just remember what Hermann said...be prepared for anything. _Seid bereit_."

"Well, no matter what happens tonight, I'm glad I've got you here with me," Vitani admitted as she inched a bit closer to her friend. "That first night when I found out you hadn't died, that you were going to be OK..." Her voice faded out. She gave Kopa a quick lick on the cheek and grimaced in embarrassment almost immediately thereafter, but Kopa just looked at her and smiled.

"I'm glad you're here too," he replied.

"And me," Hermann chimed in. "Lord knows it wouldn't be nearly as interesting around here without both—

"_Ven ze moon heets your eye like a big pizza pie, zat's amooo-ree!_"

"You know," Hermann said in German to a grinning Markos, "any normal person would have had you killed and turned into dog food long ago."

"So what's keeping you then?" Markos asked, still smiling.

"One, you're my friend, and two, it would be horribly cruel to the dog."

"I'm taking a wild guess here, but was that another Hermann-to-Markos death threat?" Vitani said to Kopa.

"You know it was."

_2055_

"Hermann, look." Markos pointed out towards a spot a few hundred yards away. "Something's moving out there."

"Damn, you've got good eyesight," Hermann said as he followed Markos's finger to a spot a few hundred yards out. "I never would have seen that. Is it them?"

"I can't tell; it just looks like a bunch of blobs from here." Then a distant roar went up in the direction of the shapes. "I think that pretty much confirms it," Markos said. "How are we supposed to tell ours from theirs, again?"

"I told them to come up with something discreet, some kind of mark we can see and use to tell them apart. There's ten of them on our side in total; if all else fails, we'll take ten shots, see who falls over, and go from there." Hermann closed his rifle's bolt and took the safety off. "Plug your ears and cover your eyes. I'm firing off the signal round."

"Cover my eyes? Why?"

"So the flash doesn't make you see stars for the rest of the night." Kopa and Vitani covered up as well, knowing the sound would be even louder as it bounced off the rock face behind them. From where she and the rest of her pride were approaching, Zira saw a bright light in the near distance, followed by a loud crack and the sound of something indiscernible whistling by overheard. It was a pre-arranged signal for the rest of the pride to get into position, but much like the German flag flying above Pride Rock, the significance was entirely lost on Zira, exactly as Hermann hoped it would be. For ten of her lionesses, however, each of whom was covered in mud on one side in an attempt to stand out from the rest, there were no doubts as to what had just happened, no questions about what had just flown over or who had sent it. As if with one mind, they hoped and prayed that they would come no closer to one of these dreaded flying objects than they had just been at that moment.

_2100_

"They're right on top of us, Hermann! Why can't we shoot yet?"

"We have to wait until they make the first move. Kopa, Vitani," Hermann said, switching into English, "you two keep your heads down and out of sight. The last thing I need is Zira's entire pride charging this place."

The two men watched as fourteen lionesses slowly and deliberately ascended the boulders, eyes and claws gleaming in the moonlight. In the center of the approaching line stood one lioness with a torn ear, exactly as Hermann remembered her from the first night, the time when he had been remarkably close to running her over with the Mercedes. Markos's cry of "Stop!" had saved her then, but now, not even a Cease and Desist order from the German Bundestag would stop either man from doing what they had promised to do.

Hermann picked his head up off of his rifle stock, realizing he wouldn't be shooting just yet. "They're not moving," he whispered, knowing that he would only stay invisible as long as the others couldn't hear him. "We can't fire into a staring contest; it'll give too much away."

"Simba! Save us the trouble and turn them over!" a new, unfamiliar voice boomed from below. Neither Hermann nor Markos had ever heard Zira speak. "If not, you may as well give yourselves up now!" Simba, along with the rest of his pride, could hear every one of Zira's words, but he didn't even think about responding: everything hinged on the other party's making the first move, even if it meant waiting the night out.

Up above, Markos was getting impatient and anxious. "We've got to set this off ourselves!" he said. You have to do something…get their attention! Put those voice lessons to good use!"

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Hermann mumbled as he climbed up onto the highest, closest rock he could find, or rather, the highest one he could actually climb with his one good leg. "This is absolutely nuts…you realize that, right?"

"And the rest of what we're doing _isn't _nuts?" his friend retorted. "Just do it! Now! I'll light you up with the flashlight!"

Hermann raised himself up to his full height, pulled his shoulders back, and sucked in a deep breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, Schumann's _In der Fremde_ from the _Eichendorff Lieder_, Opus 29, Number 1!" he shouted more than loudly enough for everyone else to hear. Markos took this as his cue to shine his flashlight on him.

"_Aus der Heimat hinter den Blitzen rot_

_Da kommen die Wolken her,_"

Zira stopped cold in her tracks. "What the heck is this?" she said. "Who's the singing idiot?"

"_Aber Vater und Mutter sind lange tot,_

_Es kennt mich dort keiner mehr."_

"Honestly, I'm rather disappointed in you, Simba," Zira sneered. "This is really the best you can come up with? Someone to sing to us?"

"Keep going!" Markos shouted. "And put some feeling into it…they've got to come to us!"

"_Wie bald, wie bald kommt die stille Zeit,_

_Da ruhe ich auch, und über mir_

_Rauschet die schöne Waldeinsamkeit_

_Und keiner mehr kennt mich auch hier._

Silence.

"Thank you, thanks very much, I'm here all week long!"

"I don't believe this…you three, take care of whoever that was up there strangling the cat. He's really annoying me."

_Strangling a cat? _Hermann thought. _That does it, she's going down. _"Markos, now…here's our chance! Lights forward!"

Two beams of light fell on a group of three lionesses, each of whom had their left side, and only their left side, covered in dark mud. Hermann had no choice but to assume that the mud was the discreet signal he had insisted on back in the Outlands, and that these lionesses were thus on his side, at least until he had conclusive evidence to the contrary. "On my mark, shoot to miss!" Hermann said in German. "Into the ground in front of them!" From where they were hunkered behind Markos, Kopa and Vitani covered their ears and eyes. The command they were all expecting came only fractions of a second later.

"_FIRE!"_

Hermann held his shot to see what the first would accomplish. Just as he had prescribed, the bullet went into the ground, kicking up a flurry of dust and grit. The leftmost lioness took a staggering step forward and fell over, not unconvincingly, with a groan and a roar.

"We're in business!" Markos shouted, right before he took another shot, followed immediately thereafter by one from Hermann. When the dust from the impacts cleared, all three lionesses were lying motionless on the ground. They had all taken spectacular and true-to-form falls, but Hermann knew they were completely uninjured: he had seen the dust cloud from the second bullet crashing into the ground well in front of the advancing "attacker", and he had sent his own shot yards high and to the right. For a second or two, he remembered the unfortunate results of Markos's errant shots during his crash course in shooting, and hoped sincerely that his skyward bullet hadn't found its way into yet another vulture. Simba and the two ranks of lionesses on Hermann's left and right, for their part, had made no effort at all to intercept the incoming group of three, nor were they supposed to have done so in the first place: simply standing and waiting in a defensive position, Hermann had reasoned, would be enough to convince Zira that nothing fishy was taking place. His orders to the pride had been frank and direct: _let be until told otherwise_.

Only a few seconds after the echoes died away, two more Outlander lionesses took off in the same direction as their supposedly-fallen comrades. With extended claws and bared teeth, they too charged the lines backed by the two men, despite their pride leader's shouts to come back at once.

"What's it looking like out there?" Vitani asked Kopa, afraid to look for herself and chance having her worst fears—that three of her relatives might have just been taken out—confirmed.

"I think they're OK," Kopa said, peeking out just far enough over the ledge to see. "_Hermann, alles leben?_"

"_Alles leben!" _Hermann replied.

"They're alive," Kopa said to Vitani. "So far, they—

He was cut off by another gunshot, and then yet another following right on the heels of the first. "_Ow! _he exclaimed, clapping his paws over his ears and squinting his eyes shut. "My head!"

"Hey, Markos, warn us next time you do that, will you?" Vitani concurred, herself not in any better shape than Kopa was. Now there were only nine of Zira's original fourteen left standing, eight of them standing in a horseshoe around her.

"That's actually rather intelligent," Hermann admitted. "It's a body shield; a horseshoe formation to keep us from getting to Zira. Ingenious."

"I don't care what you call it;" said Markos, "it's bad news for us! What do we do now? There's five of ours still standing, and if two fall over with one shot, we'll be blown! It's harder to fake this kind of thing when they're not actually running at you…"

"Maybe, but I've got an idea. When I tell you to, take another shot and send it high." Markos nodded an agreement.

"What's he up to now?" Kopa asked.

"Saving your friend's family," Hermann cut in before anyone else could respond. "Time to make five into four. Marko_s_," he said in English, with as little of an accent as he was able, "take out the one the _furthest to our left! _Again, that's the one at the _end _of the line on _our left!" _Markos didn't understand the English, but he knew exactly what his friend was doing: preventing the all-telling two-for-one by explicitly directing who got "shot" next. "Fire!"

Sure enough, as soon as the report rang out, the lioness at the left end of the horseshoe fell over with a thud. But the resulting joy and satisfaction were rather short lived, as Zira quickly came to realize that any kind of protective formation did her no good as long as lionesses kept getting picked off one by one, and that one other option, a full-blown assault, was still very much in the cards for her. "All of you," she snarled, "attack! Kill them all, and bring me Vitani and Kopa, dead or alive! Now!"

These were the exact words Hermann had been dreading, but as he expected them from the outset, he already had a plan in place. "Simba," he shouted down, "both lines, engage! _And keep them out of the cave!_"

_So that's where they've hidden the little rat_, Zira thought as she tried to push her way towards the entrance. _They've given themselves up now_. And yet, as frenzied as Hermann's command had been, Zira saw that she was met with little resistance; when she arrived at the entryway, nobody was even guarding it. With a malicious grin, she and her three loyalists went inside, ignoring the fact that the sounds of gunfire and combat had immediately ceased from outside.

Six of the Outlanders were still feigning death, while the four that had yet to be targeted were all standing and watching intently, their eyes trying in vain to bore into the darkness of the cave. "I can't believe it…she went in!" Kopa said, giddy with excitement. "This is going to be awesome!"

"What's so awesome about it?" Vitani responded, not having been filled in on this particular part of Hermann's grand scheme. "There's nothing in there; she'll figure that out soon enough, and then we're right back where we started!"

"Actually," Hermann interrupted, there's definitely something in there; not you or Kopa, obviously, but something, regardless. And I do have to agree with your friend on this one…this _is _going to be awesome."

"So what's in there, then?" "Our secret weapon. And he doesn't take kindly to being disturbed or to cub killers…or the Barcelona Football Club, but that's beside the point."

_2115_

Zira and her trio of minions stared ahead into the dark, all of them believing that only feet away lay the object of their most cruel and bloodthirsty desire. Sure enough, just as expected, a pair of yellow eyes was staring directly back at them, but unexpectedly, the eyes didn't look like they belonged to Kopa or Vitani, and the expression of horror Zira thought would surely be showing through was completely absent. In fact, these particular eyes did not seem to be lion's eyes at all: the pupils were narrow and slit-like instead of round, and the lids didn't seem to be blinking.

Zira's intuitions weren't leading her astray. Indeed, she was not looking at a lion at all, but rather at an animal of a very different kind, one who had been waiting for this exact moment, with explicit instructions from the higher-ups to "have a bit of fun." As her sight adjusted second by second to the near-total darkness, Zira began to make out distinguishable features: four stubby legs and a long, tapered tail which, like the eyes, couldn't possibly be attached to a lion's body. Then the unfamiliar creature took a step forward into the same sliver of moonlight that had once fallen about the nearly-dead Kopa on the night of Hermann and Markos's arrival. As the light came down, it revealed the final, all-telling indicator: a gleaming row of bright white, needle-sharp teeth lining a titanic set of jaws.

"Well hello," a snakelike voice intoned, its owner completely concealed in the dark except for one eye and a set of teeth. "I have been…expecting you." The eyes darted over to Zira

"Zira, is that what I think it is?" one of the other lionesses said with obvious angst. "It looks like a...

"Shut up!" Zira snapped back. "It's probably just—

She was cut off abruptly by a loud, rattling hiss, at once putting an end to all speculation that someone was playing a joke or putting her on. "Oh no, _señora_, I assure you I am _exactly _what she thinks I am. In fact, you and I, we have already met once before."

"Met before? Who are you?" Zira said, already knowing full well _what_ was speaking to her and sensing fear in herself for the first time in years. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Is quite simple: you try to kill one of Simba's family, you try to kill…no, that's not right, I try again: you try to kill me, you have to…_ ay, madre de Dios_, I never get used to this English! One more time, this time I get it. You—

"Simba?" Zira interrupted. "You know about him?" "I know about him, and I know about you. Remember your little 'accident' at the pond, when you got that torn ear?"

_It can't be_, _it's not possible,_ she thought, only to have her suspicions immediately confirmed:

"I'm the one who gave it to you." Zira watched in near horror as the toothy grin in front of her got wider and more sinister by the second. "And I think," the voice concluded, rising in tone and volume with each word, "that it's time for you to get a left ear to match your right!"


	27. Fremdhilfe

AN: chapter revised from the original. Apologies for confusion

German phrases used towards the end:

_Was ist das?..._What's that?

_Ich weiss nicht_…I don't know

_Sprich_…speak/talk (as a command)

**ACHTUNDZWANZIG**

_**Fremdhilfe (II)**_

Hermann watched and waited. _Any minute now, _he thought, knowing it would be impossible for Zira to have gone inside and not run across what was already there waiting for her. Sure enough, a series of muffled shrieks cut through the air, followed by a truly incredible sight: four lionesses running for their lives at top speed and looking as if they had just seen a ghost, all being pursued by one very large, very unfriendly-looking Nile crocodile.

"Brilliant!" Hermann exclaimed. "That's the style…get 'em, Roberto! Give them a taste of their own medicine!" He saw that the four lionesses were stuck running in a frantic circle, often having to step over the bodies of the other ten. Those who hadn't already taken a pretend bullet feigned death shortly after Zira and her guards disappeared from sight, hoping that their leader wouldn't take the complete lack of subsequent gunfire into account, but in truth, none of the allied ten had anything to worry about: Zira was far too preoccupied with what was directly behind her—a one tone crocodile snapping, hissing, and occasionally throwing out insults in mangled English—to think the facts over and realize that the bulk of her pride was only acting.

As well as Hermann's idea was working, he suddenly saw a problem: for the first time that night, he would be shooting to hit as opposed to missing on purpose, and with a limited supply of shells left over. More to the point, he had four moving targets, all of which were going along understandably quickly given who was bringing up the rear. Still, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice as to when he could shoot and how fast his targets would be moving…or so he thought.

"Vitani, I don't want you to watch this," Hermann said as he loaded a few more rounds and motioned for Markos to do the same. "It's real now; no more misses; no more pretending. I think it's best if you turn away until we're through."

"She tried to kill Kopa," Vitani retorted, unmoved by Hermann's argument. "If there's one thing I've been waiting to see more than anything else, it's you taking care of that monster once and for all. Kopa? What do you think?"

Kopa picked up his front leg and gave a thoughtful look at the thin scar which still remained. He only paused for a second or two. "Get her, Hermann."

"I guess that concludes negotiations then," Hermann replied. "Simba! Go get them, and keep your heads down! Try and keep them from moving around too much; we're going hot!"

Simba and his pride charged the small group of Outlanders as Hermann and Markos exchanged a quick thumbs-up.

"For real this time, Schreiber. Make 'em feel it."

"Which one do we aim at first?"

"Prioritize, divide, and conquer. And save the brass ring for last; I want her alive, for the time being. _Nala!" _He stopped speaking German and switched into English. "_There's one coming up behind you!"_ One of the four lionesses had broken out of the circle and gone around the back of the approaching line undetected, adding to her advantage the fact that Hermann's warning had gone completely unheard.

"She's going to get my mom!" Kopa gasped. "Hermann, shoot!" Hermann was about to try a last-ditch shot, knowing he had precious few seconds before Nala would be surprised from behind, when something unseen and unknown suddenly dug its claws into the would-be attacker's back and let out a terrific high-pitched screech. "Auugh!" the lioness yelled, completely stopping her run and trying frantically to shake off whatever had just landed on her, more than getting the attention of every last pride member on Simba's side in the process. "Get it off! Get it—

"_Fire!"_

_BANG_

"One down! Simba, why did she stop all of a sudden? What the heck was that?"

"I can't believe it; must be an old friend of ours!" Simba turned around and answered back. "I didn't think he'd actually fly all the way here, but better late than never, I suppose!"

"'Fly all the way here'…You mean whatever just did that was a bird? What kind of bird?"

"Big…very big! I'll fill you in later!" Simba replied as he rejoined the chase after the remaining Outlanders.

Hermann knew he wouldn't be able to see much of anything in the dark, even with the flashlight on the end of his rifle barrel, but he knew that anything big enough to stop a full-grown lioness dead in her tracks was surely a force to be reckoned with, certainly much larger than the common brown sparrows that would turn up from time to time outside the apartment in Stuttgart. _Whatever this bird looks like, _he thought, _I'm glad he's on our side and not theirs!_ He then looked back out to where the rest of the Outlanders were still running in circles, trying to avoid getting stuck between a pair of crocodile jaws, and took another shot. Nobody fell over.

"Damn it! I missed! They're just moving too fast! Simba, can you slow them down?" Markos tried a shot of his own, with the same undesirable result.

"That's a negative…we can't hold them in one place!" Simba shouted back. "We're—_oof!_" One of the Outlander lionesses landed squarely on top of him, not in an attempt to take him off his feet, but rather as the result of a blind collision while she was running and looking backwards. Simba swatted her off, and immediately regretted it: as soon he had knocked the lioness over, a bullet whistled straight through the airspace she had previously occupied.

"Sorry, Hermann!" he said, "Give us some time! We'll try and slow them down as best we can." He narrowly avoided a second head-on collision with some fancy footwork, stepping sideways just in time to let two thousand pounds worth of crocodile run past. Despite Simba's superior numbers, the task of keeping the Outlanders even a bit contained was proving extremely difficult.

_I guess crocodiles don't look where they're going any more than lions do, _Hermann surmised, having seen the near miss between Simba and Roberto. "This is impossible; it's like corralling a flock of hummingbirds!" he said in German to Markos. "We'll never get in a shot like this!"

"How could it be too fast for you…you never miss!"

"Just a minor detail…none of those targets from our practice sessions were moving!"

Just then, Hermann got an unexpected helping hand from the 'old friend' of the pride, a bird which, as far as he could make out with his flashlight, was some sort of large eagle hovering directly over a lioness's head…the same lioness who had just run into Simba and dodged a wayward shot moments earlier. "Come on, come get the pretty birdy!" he said in a high-pitched, mocking voice. The lioness took the bait and set off in pursuit, while the eagle, keeping himself just barely out of reach, turned himself back around towards Hermann, Markos, and the two cubs.

"What's he doing?" Kopa said, half-asking, half-wondering. "Is he trying to get himself killed?"

"No, he's bringing her right by us!" Hermann answered. "He's giving me another shot." Sure enough, as the eagle breezed by, Hermann had a clear look at the lioness giving chase, but even the decrease in distance wasn't enough to offset the speed.

"Too fast!" he shouted. "Slow it down for me!" Hermann's words didn't go unnoticed. The eagle immediately broke his flight path, landed abruptly on a stone, and held up a wing.

"Stop!"

The lioness following behind skidded herself to an unexpected stop and scowled at the bird she had been chasing, having suddenly realized, and all too late, why he had stopped flying and how useless it would be for her to try and start running again.

"Gotcha."

"You feathered son of—

The bullet arrived before the sentence ended. Out of the corner of his eye, Hermann spotted the one remaining lioness making a desperate run for the hills in the distance, already too far away for him to risk spending a bullet. "One's getting away!" he called out. "Someone get after her!" The lioness heard Hermann's shouts and kept running away, thinking herself in the clear even though she was being pursued yet again...and not by a lion.

"Hey, you!" Hermann shouted, figuring he might as well savor the moment if he couldn't shoot. "Turn around and check your six!" She thought it was all a game until she looked back over her shoulder and saw, sure enough, the one pair of gleaming yellow eyes she least wanted to see.

"Oh no, not you again!" she cried, trying to run even faster. "Please, don't eat me!"

"Just one bite! One bite, then I leave you alone, I promise!" He threw in some lip-licking sounds as he ran along, just for dramatic effect. "Like your legs, you don't need those...ooh, they look tasty..."

The pair quickly disappeared over a small hill and out of sight, with Roberto noisily snapping at the lioness's back legs; neither Hermann nor Markos nor any of the lions (all of whom were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle) could believe that a crocodile four times the weight of the animal he was chasing could even come close to keeping pace. Then he quickly turned his attention back to the scene in front of him. The moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived: only one of the Outlanders, Hermann's prime target, was left standing. With Roberto gone, chasing after the last of the surviving three seconds-in-command, Simba and his pride had managed to form a circle around Zira, effectively keeping her from running anywhere without having to barrel through a body barricade. True, she wasn't up against a crocodile this time, but her situation certainly hadn't changed for the better since her unexpected encounter not too long ago: if those who had spent the night defending Pride Rock were to have their way, she would never leave the circle alive.

"Markos, unload for a second," Hermann said. "I'm going down there. Kopa and Vitani, you two come with me."

"That's it, you've officially crossed the line from slightly off-kilter to officially insane. I think that stint in radiology did it for you…I told them all along that X-ray machine was leaking radiation! Just put your head back on your shoulders and take your damned shot."

"It's physically impossible for our X-ray machine to 'leak radiation'. And I can't shoot into that circle without risking hitting one of ours; the bullet could easily keep going and take out someone else along with Zira. I'll be back in a minute, and this engagement will finally be decided once and for all. Just keep me covered until then."

"Fine, do what you have to, but the little guys stay with me."

"No dice. We're making it personal. I want her to get a good, hard look at them—both of them—before I send that shot flying."

"This isn't right, Hermann…risk your own neck if you have to, but don't use the kids for dramatic effect! It's not worth putting them in danger just for you to get your kicks in."

"Vitani? What do you think?"

"I think I haven't understood one word of what you just said to each other. How many times do I have to tell you, _I don't speak German!_" Hermann quickly explained himself in English; Kopa quietly smiled to himself, rather proud that he could one-up his friend by not needing the translation in the first place. "Oh, I'm in," Vitani said when Hermann had finished. "Kopa? You coming?"

"_Natürlich_," Kopa answered confidently. "Of course."

"We'll be fine, trust me," Hermann reassured his friend, "just stay sharp for a few minutes more. If anything happens—

"But I stink at shooting! I can't—

"Keep up with that kind of thinking, and I guarantee you'll stink! I don't want to hear a word of it! You see something suspicious going down, you shoot…got that?"

"Fine. Go; you're wasting time."

Hermann picked his way down from the bunker, rifle in one hand, cane in the other. Kopa and Vitani followed cautiously behind him, and together, all three pushed their way into the circle, much to the surprise and distress of those who comprised it.

"So…we meet at last, Zira."

"_What are you doing, Hermann?_" Simba whispered through clenched teeth. "_Get yourself out of here!"_

"Well, well," said Zira, "if it isn't the much-fabled Hermann Sterlitz. I've heard a lot about you. I suppose I might actually admire your tenacity, that is, if you hadn't gone and stuck your nose into business that wasn't yours." She stared at Kopa, only becoming more irate when he shot the stare right back at her. "And you, Vitani…how does it feel to betray your own family?"

"Better, now that they're about to be avenged!" Vitani almost made a run at her mother right then and there, but she stopped herself before taking the first step. Hermann saw an opportunity to rub a little salt in the wound, and he certainly wasn't going to pass it up. He motioned for the cubs to follow him, walked a few steps over to a lioness lying immobile on the ground—one who was very much alive, but doing an excellent job of appearing to be otherwise—and knelt down over her, much the way a hunter might inspect a kill.

"Don't move," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth before prodding the lioness's side with his foot. "Tsk, tsk…what a shame. This is your fault, you know. She didn't have to die."

Zira let out a snarl. "You're the one who shot her! You planted that crocodile inside the—

"_You _brought her here with you, did you not? _Your _fault! You! And speaking of the crocodile, tell me, how did you like running into Roberto…again? Admit it, that was a stroke of genius hiding him in there." Hermann was absolutely loving the chance to play the part of tormentor, unlike him as it was to do so. Looking into her eyes, Hermann could see Zira's victim lying once more the cave floor, covered in blood and agonized from the multitude of injuries inflicted upon him. He could feel Kopa squeezing his left hand and hear his cries; he saw the jagged wounds, bandages and stitch upon ragged stitch appearing before his eyes as if the entire course of events were taking place anew. From up above, Markos watched and waited.

Hermann decided to wrap up his tirade. Zira was still glaring at the cubs on each side of him, trying to figure out if she had one last chance to finish what she had started a few weeks ago. "I've been waiting a long time to do this," he concluded. "I guess everything they say about revenge is true: It's a dish best served cold, with a side order of whoop-ass." The _w, _of course, came out a as _v_, creating a word which didn't actually exist in any dictionary. Hermann raised his gun, for what he assumed would be the last time, and pulled back.

_Click_.

Hermann's smug expression suddenly gave way to terror. _No, not a jam, not now!_ He took the rifle down and tried to open it, but the bolt was stuck fast. "Markos! It's jammed!" he shouted up to his friend as he continued to try and muscle the rifle open.

Zira watched and grinned, as she too understood what had happened, even though her knowledge of human weaponry was limited at best. "I guess I _will _have one consolation tonight," she said. "You're about to join the rest of my pride." Wasting no time, she sprung towards Hermann with a roar.

_I'm about to die, _Hermann thought as the lioness leapt towards him, too quickly and too unexpectedly for anyone else to stop her. As much as he wanted to cover up or jump off to one side at the last moment, he found himself glued to the ground where he was, and speaking words he hadn't used since childhood:

_Sh'ma Yisroel, Adonai Eloheinu…_

Hermann heard a bang go off from behind him, followed by a sharp whistling sound fractions of a second later. He waited, and then waited a bit longer, for a collision that never came: at his feet, only inches in front of him, lay Zira, the vicious expression still frozen on her face. All around him, the faces varied from shock to amazement to relief, all stemming from the same root cause—Someone had pulled off a nearly-impossible shot at an airborne, moving target…and it hadn't been Hermann.

"Hey" a familiar voice called down in German, "you, with the drinking problem and the death wish! You're welcome!"

"How did he do that?" Hermann said, wondering aloud how a person with normally horrible aim could even come close to placing such a difficult shot.

"Does it matter?" Simba replied, still looking and sounding confounded. "I'll admit, I wouldn't have expected that in a thousand years, and you coming down here in the first place was a questionable decision to say the least…but either way, it's over. We've done it!"

"I thought it was forbidden to involve other prides—or other animals—in things like this," Hermann spoke up. "That eagle who showed up, where did he come from? Was that just a crazy coincidence, or did you send for him ahead of time?"

"You forget, being me does have its advantages," Simba replied. "And who would I be to argue with a little extra help? I mean, look at him, a Crowned Eagle…he's practically a lion with wings. Birds don't get any bigger and meaner than he does." Hermann saw the eagle sitting on a nearby boulder preening himself, and had his first chance to accurately gauge the newcomer's size.

"That's a Crowned Eagle then, is it? He's absolutely huge," he said, looking over the set of long, sharp talons and the equally impressive beak.

"That he is," Simba concurred. "He and I go a long way back…his family knows my family, and my dad knew his dad, and so on and so forth. We've always helped each other out in the past, but I'm going to owe him a seriously big one after this."

"So we started with a tank, and ended up with a fighter jet as well," Hermann mused. "And speaking of tanks, look who's come back…did you get her, Roberto?"

"No, _señor_, I did not."

"You mean she got away?" Simba asked. "How could that happen?"

"I not say that she gets away. I no get her _myself_. But I follow her to the edge of the canyon, and she gets trapped, cornered with nowhere to go and…she jumps."

"She jumps where, exactly?"

"Over the cliff, _su majestad. _Very big drop."

Simba didn't know whether to smile or to grimace, as it wasn't the first time someone had fallen victim to the call of gravity at that particular spot. "You've done it, Hermann," he said again, amazed, relieved, and ecstatic all at once. "We've won."

Hermann looked around slowly. Thirteen Outlanders lay on the ground: three dead, ten pretending, and one more lying inert somewhere out of sight at the base of a precipice. "Get up!" he said, loud enough for the rest to hear. "Everyone on their feet. _Schnell!_"

Hermann climbed back up to their makeshift bunker as the ten lionesses nervously stood back up, checking themselves and each other for injuries which weren't there. The rest of the pride fell into place among the ten surviving Outlanders, all of whom were looking at him and waiting for him to say something.

"We've won," Markos echoed Simba's words in German. "I can't believe it…you, I mean, I, I mean _we _pulled it off! We're alive!"

Hermann could feel his excitement building. He turned around and shot a quick look up to the very top of the highest rock face, where his flag was still lit and flapping in the breeze, and then looked over at Simba, a large grin spreading across both of their faces. With a sudden burst of energy, he thrust his rifle into the air above his head. "_Gewonnen! Die Nacht ist gewonnen!" _he screamed at the top of his lungs. "The night is ours!" A rising crescendo of cheers quickly went up from the lions in front of him, Pridelander and Outlander alike.

"Thanks, you guys," Vitani said to the two men, pausing only a second before making the rounds with her relatives. "Thanks for saving them."

"You did it! Come on, let's go celebrate!" Kopa shouted. "Let's get Markos stuck in the tree again!" But when he looked up at Hermann to wait for an answer, he saw something he didn't expect. Hermann had a puzzled look his face, and Markos was staring at one of the bodies.

"_Was ist das?_"

"_Ich weiss nicht."_

"What's going on?" Kopa asked.

"I…I don't know…everybody be quiet! _Seid ruhig!" _Hermann commanded. The cheering quickly died down.

"Oh _no_," Markos gasped, still watching the unmoving lioness. "Hermann…don't look now, but—

"But what? Just say it!"

"On her right. Not good." A small lion cub, barely old enough to walk on his own four feet, was prodding at her side.

"_Mom, get up! Why won't you get up?" _The tiny voice became more scared and confused by the second.

Hermann stood and stared, all his feelings of victory and triumph replaced at once by dread and revulsion. "My God, what have I done?" he said, all the time staring open-mouthed at the tiny cub who continued to try and wake his mother up. "That was my shot that did that. What have I done…" Horrible, grating words started running through his head: _murderer, assassin, monster, cold-blooded killer._ He found himself nearly gasping for breath and feeling as if he were about to be sick and pass out. By now, all eyes were on the heartrending scene playing itself out between the deceased lioness and her cub. A single flash of lightning carved its way across the night sky, momentarily turning the grey clouds an eerie orange-red.

"Is he OK?" Kopa asked his father, sensing that something was wrong but not putting the two and two together. "Vitani, what's wrong with him?" He didn't get a response.

Simba walked over and tried to talk a bit of sense. ""It's not your fault," he said, "you did what you had to do." There was no answer. A steady, cold rain began to fall.

"Please, talk to me; say something."

"_Hermann_, _bitte, sprich,"_ Markos offered, but his and everyone else's efforts proved for naught. Hermann dropped his rifle and ran inside as fast as he could, a single, chilling scream of "_Nein!_" rebounding off the rocks for a long time after. The lantern atop Pride Rock slowly flickered out.


	28. Errinerung

AN: _Gut gemacht _means "well done" in German. Patrick Cassidy, an American composer, has a setting of Dante's _La Vita Nuova _sonnet which is not only beautiful, but fits in well (in my opinion) with the scene here. Add 'youtube' to have a listen if interested. This chapter was admittedly experimental in style, using only dialog and no narration…I hope it works, but tell me if it doesn't!

.com/watch?v=KN5AG14x8mQ

**NEUNUNDZWANZIG**

_**Errinerung**_

"_Io sono in pace."_

~Dante

"_Hermann Wolfgang, look at yourself. What's gotten into you? What are you doing, throwing your things around the room like that?"_

"It's a cave, not a room, and I'm looking for something, anything that's got alcohol in it."

"_I thought I taught you better than to drown your problems in liquor. And you won't find any of that in a suitcase full of medical supplies to begin with."_

"Actually, you'd be surprised what I find in here."

"_You stole the supplies from my hospital, didn't you?"_

"Of course I stole them. Don't give me grief about it; without that stuff, Kopa wouldn't be alive…you know that."

"_I'm not going to argue with you there; even I helped myself to the things in that supply closet from time to time. Like those special lemon honey cough drops they ordered in; the first day they showed up, five packets went home in my pockets. But seriously, I've never seen you like this before, not even on your worst days at work. Pull yourself together."_

"That's because you only ever saw me at work, not anywhere else. When things went wrong, I didn't let on while I was on the job; I always did my venting after I clocked out, over a tall glass of Warsteiner at the beer garden three blocks away…and I never left anyone without their mother, either."

"_You know you didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes, we are at fault, and—_

"…And sometimes, we are the victims of unfortunate circumstance beyond our control, I know. You only told me that a few hundred times; I think I can remember."

"_You do remember _some_ things incredibly well, I'll admit that. I remember giving you a written exam your second year, and not only did you finish in record time; you also flipped the page over and wrote out the entire C sharp minor chord progression in the time that remained. You should know—I never had the heart to tell you before—there was a mistake in there."_

"A mistake? Where? I got a 100 on that exam."

"_Not in the exam; it was in your music, on the back. You augmented a note somewhere along the way, and wound up spelling the chord incorrectly."_

"That couldn't have happened. I don't mess that kind of thing up."

"_Oh, so that fifth sharp appeared out of thin air, then? You forget, I spent three years in conservatory before entering medical school. Nothing gets by me."_

"Fine, so I made a mistake. Why won't you just go away and leave me in peace? I've orphaned a kid, killed his mother; aren't there better people out there in the world more deserving of your time than I am? People who haven't ripped someone else's life to shreds?"

"_You're the one who's imagining me here, not the other way around. If you want to get rid of me, all you've got to do is think me away, and I'll leave."_

"Fine, I will."

…

"You're still here, aren't you?"

"_Afraid so."_

"What the hell do you want? Why do you keep bothering me?"

"_Is that any way to speak to an old friend?"_

"Depends on the friend. If it's Markos, then yes."

"_And me?"_

"No…not to you. Sorry."

"_No offense taken. I just want to know—_

"Why do I have to answer questions? Can't you just let me rot in peace here?"

"_Because I didn't train you up to be a person who lets himself rot, in peace or otherwise, for no good reason. Since you're asking, though, what I want is for you to get out of this state you're in and take a long, hard look at the facts."_

"Oh, so it's _facts_ you want? OK then, here's a real nice one for you to contemplate: I just put a thirty-aught-six between a cub's mother's eyes! What…you're grinning, now? I see nothing amusing about this. Shall I just go ahead and shoot myself now so you and all your friends can have a laugh over that as well?"

"_That's what I never got about you, Hermann Wolfgang. Someone who does so many great things and possesses so much talent, and still, you're always looking at the world as a glass half empty_."

"I don't look at it as half full or half empty. I just see a glass with less liquid in it than there should be, and wonder who the hell's been drinking my beer. And why do you always call me by my first _and _middle names? Not even my parents do that any more."

"_See, there you go again! You just can't stand to let people give you compliments, that's what I think. I'm not sure why, but you shy away from things like that almost instinctively, as if there were some horrible stigma attached to somebody telling you 'well done' or 'good job'."_

"I'm just following your advice. I can't stand people obsessed with their own egos; you said it yourself: 'Don't let praise go to your head'."

"_Yes, I said that, and that's exactly what I meant by it, nothing more and nothing less. I told you to not let commendations and praise cloud your judgment, not for you to never accept them in the first place. Frankly, I don't think you see the difference between the two, and that's where you've always had your weaknesses: you're book smart…book smart, but not nearly as people smart."_

"Fine, then tell me, what would _you_ be doing in my place? Dancing around the savannah all happy-go-lucky? Ignoring the fact that you'd shot an innocent kid's mother while everyone else patted you on the back?"

"_No. I'd be using the brains you were born with, and being reasonable about the matter. Of each thing I did, I would endeavor to figure out what is it in and of itself, what is its most basic nature and what purpose does it serve? Rationality, simplicity, humility, in that order, are far superior to knee-jerk reaction. 'Vide cor tuum, e d'esto core ardendo, cor tuum'…you remember those words, yes?"_

"Of course I remember; that's Dante, one of the sonnets from "_La Vita Nuova"._ '_Io sono in pace, cor meum, Io sono in pace'. '_My heart is at peace'._"_

"_You remember your classics well. And, as usual, your Italian leaves quite a bit to be desired."_

"I'm a doctor, not a linguist."

"_And yet, doctor or linguist, the question remains, can you take those words to heart as opposed to simply reciting them? They're meaningless unless acted upon."_

"I forgot just how much you like philosophizing…"

"_Just look inside yourself for a moment, Hermann Wolfgang. Don't lose sight of who you are; remember what you've done and who you have become. You are my student, my colleague, the only one I would trust as a friend as well as an associate. Never forget that."_

"Wait, where are you going? That's it? 'Look inside yourself', that's the best you can offer?"

"Who are you talking to, Hermann?"

"Simba? When did you—

"I've been outside, listening to this little conversation of yours. Everyone's been worried sick about you; we all know you like to pace and ponder, but this is extreme even in your case."

"Extreme? I think I'm more than entitled to be upset right now."

"Very well, understood. Where's the other person you were speaking with? I don't see anyone else in here."

"The other person? He…left."

"So then it's just you here?"

"That's what it looks like to me."

"Is your leg sound enough to walk? You didn't bang it against anything tonight, did you?"

"It hasn't fallen off yet, so yes, I suppose I can walk as long as I've got my cane with me."

"Good, then why don't you come with me for a moment? There's something I'd like you to see."

_Ten minutes later_

"How far down does this cliff go?"

"Far enough down. ,I wouldn't go any close to the rim than you already are, if I were you.

"It's huge; it has to be fifty meters deep or more! So, what's the big announcement? Is this a punishment? Are you going to punt me over the edge? I can't say as I blame you if you are."

"Punishment? Two prides and my own son saved from certain death, and you think you should be punished? You can't beat yourself up for taking that shot, Hermann. There's not a man on this Earth who wouldn't have done the exact same thing in that situation; we all know that. If you had left her alive—

"And therefore, I should just ignore the repercussions of what I did, of how I quite literally blew that cub's family apart? I don't want a ticker tape parade or a grand banquet, I just want to make things right again…and I can't."

"I know. I know the feeling."

"Do you now?"

"Yes, more than you would think. Does any of what you're looking at happen to seem familiar at all? Shine your light down at that spot there, and tell me what you see."

"Not much. I just see a dead tree in a canyon."

"Describe it to me, in detail. Use that head of yours and give me a full analysis; tell me everything you see and what you think it all means."

"If you insist. The tree appears to have been dead for some time; I don't see any leaves or bark residue on the ground, although to be honest, it's rather hard to tell in this low light. That, and somewhere along the line, it was struck from above or from the side, or both, by a fast-moving mass of at least a hundred kilograms."

"What tells you that?"

"Don't you see that crack in its trunk does. Trees don't grow like that normally, in an upside-down _V _shape. Something—something heavy—slammed into it and brought it down, which is probably what killed it and kept it from growing. I'm sorry…what does this have to do with anything? Why am I doing a necropsy on a tree?"

"Just work with me here; what else do you see? What about the cliff face, the part that's on the same side as we're standing?"

"Let me look…OK, I can make out several sets of vertical, thin markings on the rock face directly above and to the side of the tree. The presence of these markings would indicate that someone attempted to…oh God, this is…this isn't just any old canyon, is it?"

"No, I'm afraid it isn't. Keep going, what happened next?"

"An attempt was made to climb up the cliff face and out of the canyon, but it was not met with success. An unintentional and catastrophic…are you absolutely sure you want me to continue?"

"I'm sure. Go on."

"A catastrophic fall occurred, resulting in a blunt, from-above impact with the tree consistent with the crack in its trunk. The magnitude of the forces resulting from this impact was immense; in my own professional opinion, the victim was rendered instantly deceased upon contact."

"Was there any way this 'victim', as you call him, could have survived?"

"Do you really want the details? You don't have to hear this…"

"I don't, but you do—and don't parse words. Tell me, could he have survived?"

"No, there's absolutely no way he could have survived such an event. By the time he reached the bottom, he was traveling at a terrific rate, over thirty meters per second if I've estimated the depth of this canyon correctly. The only positive I can see is that there would have been no capacity for suffering on his part. Death was instantaneous and complete; it outpaced even the microseconds required for the pain receptors in his body to signal the brain."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning despite the circumstances, his death was of the painless variety."

"I take it you've figured out exactly what you're looking at?"

"This is where your father died, isn't it?"

"You're very perceptive, Hermann; you pieced that day together almost exactly as it happened. But there's something you don't know, something you wouldn't have been able to figure out without my telling you: I saw the entire thing happen, only a few steps away from where we're standing right now."

"And that's why you brought me here? To tell me this?"

"I brought you here to prove a point: sometimes, things go wrong despite our good intentions. I was completely powerless to save my father; there wasn't a thing I could have done to keep him from dying that day. Nor was there anything you could have done tonight to prevent events unfolding as they have. Don't make the same mistake I made…don't go blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault. You acted in accordance with what you saw and what you knew at the time, with our best interests at heart; that's all anyone could ever have asked of you."

"But what's going to happen to the cub? Any way you cut it, he's got nobody left now."

"Um, I think you meant to say, 'any way you _slice _it', not 'cut it'. But forget semantics; the only important thing, however you want to order the words, is that he's still got the rest of his family—the ten others whose lives you're personally responsible for saving—along with all of us _and _the two of you. I'm sure he'll be just fine, although I certainly wouldn't mind you or Markos giving him a quick look-over."

…

"What are you thinking? I know that look of yours by now."

"I'm thinking…ach_, _you're right—you were right all along, I just couldn't admit it. I know there's nothing I could have done, but still, it's not the kind of thing you can just shrug off; these kinds of matters take time to sort themselves out. I guess you know that as well as I do."

"Indeed. I have to ask you, was what you said about my father's death completely correct? You knew by then who the 'victim' was…is it really true that he wouldn't have been able to feel anything, or were you just trying to soften the blow?"

"No, I wouldn't do something like that. It's a mathematical certainty…there's no way he could have possibly felt a thing. I assure you, your father did not suffer; I'd stake my reputation on it."

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear someone say those words. What do you say, shall we head for home?"

"Yes, let's go home. Kopa must be wondering where the two of us are."

"_Gut gemacht, Hermann Wolfgang…gut gemacht…"_

"Hermann, who said that?"

"Oh, he he…nobody you know."


	29. Der Held der Löwen

**NEUNUNDZWANZIG **(I just realized the chapter numbers were off by one…oops! Gotta fix that sometime soon.)

_**Der Held der Löwen**_

Hermann walked back to Pride Rock at Simba's side, slowly making his way toward a hero's welcome in his familiar, calculated three-step. Before he was ever able to take his first step up, he could hear the reception that awaited him, the never-ending chorus of hoorays and bravos that bounced endlessly off cave walls and rock faces before making its way to his ears. It was the first time that night that a loud noise of any kind had not come from a gun barrel, much to Hermann's satisfaction: as he had no way of protecting his ears, and the gunshots were amplified even more from bouncing off the rocks, he was secretly enjoying the relative silence of being alone in the night (even if he had just inadvertently been a part of a de facto coroner's report on Simba's father).

Both he and Simba could hear the rising crescendo of noise before they ever took their first step onto the first rock. As they got closer yet, Hermann could make out individual voices for a few seconds at a time, but it didn't take long for his beleaguered hearing to meld all the sounds into one incongruous hum. Still, he didn't think much of his temporary disability: Hermann supposed that if he could live for twelve years with a crippled leg, and if Beethoven could compose entire symphonies while completely deaf, a little hearing loss wasn't much to complain about in the grand scheme of things…especially if it was for a good cause.

"Do you want to go in first, or should I?" Hermann asked when he arrived at the mouth of the cave, unsure as to just what would constitute proper protocol. After all, even though he had been appointed to an official position and was set to formally join the pride in a matter of days, he was still significantly outranked.

"Why don't we go in together, side by side?" Simba offered. "I'm not going to stand in the way of you getting the congratulations you deserve."

"I think I can live with that. OK, here we go, _eins, zwei, drei…_" It was the second time Hermann had stood outside the cave and given himself a quick three-count since arriving in Africa. Unlike the first time, however, he knew exactly what awaited him inside. No sooner than he had stepped through the entrance, he was completely enveloped by two prides, two cubs, and another cheering human. As shot as his hearing was, Hermann could hear words in the unending cacophony that surrounded him:

"You did it! We're free!"

"He's a hero!"

"She's gone for good!"

"Bravo!"

"_Gut gemacht!"_

Hermann quickly held up his hand before what little remained of his hearing disappeared. "_Ruhig, bitte! _Quiet down; let me speak!" The noise died away, and those who had previously been cheering adopted faces of concern. Hermann's tone had not seemed celebratory, and they wondered if he was still fretting over the result of his final shot that night.

"Can everyone hear me?" Hermann asked. "Good." His deadpan, disconcerting expression suddenly gave way to exuberance. "Tonight, the final score stands as follows: Deutschland 1, Zira 0!" The cheering immediately resumed, at an even louder volume than before. Hermann was having a ball in the madness of it all until a spinning Stuttgart Football club pennant caught him squarely across the face. "_Ow!" _he shouted at the culprit, who had chosen to ignore the impact, act oblivious, and continue twirling the banner over his head. "What the hell was that for?"

"What was what for?" Markos shouted back, still feigning innocence.

"You know damn well what! Watch where you're swinging that thing!"

"Can't hear you!" Markos grinned and pointed to his ear. "_Olé, olé olé olé…"_

"Am I supposed to believe that? Get back here before I clock you over the head!"

Hermann's rebuke fell on deaf ears, as the intended recipient, pennant still in hand, had started jumping around the room and asking cheering lionesses (in German) if they knew what crowd surfing was and whether or not they'd be interested in trying it out. "We're not at a school party or a football match!" Hermann tried shouting after his friend again, with similarly unsuccessful results. "Behave yourself!"

"Let him have his fun," Simba gently suggested. "What's the worst he can do?"

"Remember how I said the only difference between drunk Markos and sober Markos was how he gets even more tone deaf when he's been drinking?" Hermann said.

"Sure, I remember."

"I think you're about to get a poignant reminder of that fact. "_Markos, no, don't do it! Stop!"_

Simba scarcely had enough time to look behind him in the direction of Hermann's light before one hundred and fifty pounds landed stomach-first on his back, fists raised in the air and still swinging the soccer flag around. Hermann, to say the least, was utterly and completely horrified.

"_Get off him!_ _Get down this instant!"_

"_Olé, olé olé olé…we're number one! We're number one! We're number—whoa!_"

_Thud_

Markos wound up on his back, looking up at Hermann and Simba while sporting an understandably sheepish grin."Uh, sorry," he said in accented English. Simba was going to tell him to think nothing of it, but Hermann spoke first:

"You moron…what were you thinking, exactly, if at all? And now look what you've done; Kopa's taken after your fine example." Hermann saw that Kopa had perched himself on his father's back, waiting excitedly for someone to throw a twirl-worthy object his way. "Do us a favor, the next time you get the urge to do something that monumentally stupid, wrap that ridiculous banner over your face and smother yourself instead."

"That's a fine way to talk to the guy who saved your life, now, isn't it? And there's _nothing _ridiculous about the Stuttgart Football Club!"

"Just answer me one question: are there any more shampoo bottles filled with vodka that you didn't tell me about?"

"Nope, not a drop. Those two bottles we had this afternoon were the last of my reserves. We're officially and unavoidably dry from here on out."

"It's true," Kopa interrupted, reminding everyone else that as far as he was concerned, speaking in German was no longer an effective way to keep a conversation on the down-low. "He's only had water to drink; he said so himself."

"Of _course _he said so," Hermann answered. "Deepest apologies, Simba; if I'd known earlier that he was actually going to do that—

"I'm not hurt, he's not hurt, so no harm done," Simba said. "Let's not waste any more time arguing; we should be celebrating, shouldn't we? Tell you what, since you're our guests of honor, why don't you tell me how you normally celebrate at home?"

"Lots of food, a big group of friends…and beer, of course, but I think it's best if we leave that part off for tonight. Just so you-know-who over there doesn't get any more bright ideas."

"Well we've got plenty of food, haven't we? All we need is a fire."

Hermann nodded. "Markos, go take three of your closest friends and get as much wood as you can find and bring back. I want a conflagration big enough for the satellites to pick up."

"Why don't you go get it?"

"_Markos, firewood! Now!" _

"But I—

"Don't make me start referring to you as 'it' again. This is your punishment for that ridiculous swan dive, now go."

Hermann thought he heard another "_mein Führer_" comment as Markos slunk off to look for deadwood. The frenzy of the celebration had since died down a bit as the participants made their way outside in anticipation of the festivities to come. Even though he had been enjoying himself, Hermann was glad to have at least a temporary respite and time for his ears to recover. As soon as Markos got back and the bonfire started burning, he figured, everything would turn straight back into barely-controlled, victory-inspired mayhem, minus only the flying soccer balls and copious amounts of alcohol normally found on such occasions outside the stadium in Stuttgart.

Hermann had every intention of staying outside, enjoying the night sky as he waited for Markos to return, but he had only spent a few moments stargazing when someone called his name from back inside the cave. What he saw when he returned was a rather poignant reminder of the events he had been hoping to completely forget about: a few of the Outlander lionesses, plus Nala, looking at tiny cub curled up in the corner.

"Something's not quite right with him," Simba whispered. "What do you think?"

"Skinny and shaking all over for some reason—he's probably scared to death."

"Can you look him over?"

"Of course I _can, _but frankly I don't think there's anything physically wrong with him; he could use a few pounds, but more likely than not he's just frightened out of his mind because I...never mind, no use going down that road again. Tell you what, why don't you try and talk to him first; he'll probably be more comfortable speaking to you than to me."

Simba took a few steps forward, only to see the cub only shrink away. Hermann shrugged his shoulders and tried walking over himself, but it was no use at all: every time someone tried to get even the slightest bit closer, the youngster pressed himself further into the corner; he would have gone right through the wall and out the other side, given the chance. "Where are you from? What's your name?" Hermann asked as un-threateningly as he could, only to be met with complete silence.

Hermann tried another approach: "Simba, ask me where I'm from."

"Why?" Simba replied.

"Just humor me…ask me where I come from."

"OK then, where do you come from, Hermann?"

"Funny you should ask. I happen to come from Stuttgart, Baden-Württemburg, Germany." Hermann turned to speak to the cub again. "See how easy that was? Now it's your turn; where is it you're from?" Like the first attempt, he didn't get an answer, just a continued thousand-yard stare.

"Is it my accent that's frightening you? You don't have to worry about me; I know I sound a bit…intimidating…but that's just how I talk." _Whatever you do, not a word of German_, he thought_, the kid's already freaked out enough by my English._ "Can you tell me your name?"

"I don't have one…"

Hermann turned himself back around, no easy feat considering the state of his right leg. "I think this is a bit out of my league," he confessed. "Who was closest to him besides his mother?"

"Nobody was," a lioness answered. "His mother never paid a moment of attention to him, and she didn't let anyone else get anywhere near him. He may as well have grown up alone; he wasn't even allowed enough to eat, not before, not ever. Maybe that was supposed to be some way of toughening him up…I don't know. At first, he tried to stay with us, but he was always found and taken back, and finally he just…"

"He just what?"

"He just gave up. I couldn't stand to watch it anymore; I've never seen anyone that cruel." Hermann's remaining guilt regarding the results of his final shot that night immediately evaporated: if the cub's mother had indeed been a parent in the biological sense only, her death would most likely be entirely insignificant as far as her son was concerned. With her now gone, he might finally be able to get the attention he deserved and had spent days longing for, but not unless someone was able to break the ice.

"So what do we do now?" Hermann said to nobody specific.

"Perhaps you and everyone else should go outside for a bit, and leave him with me," Nala suggested. "I think he might be a bit more at ease if it's just me and him. Kopa, Vitani, you go with Hermann as well."

"Are you sure that's the best idea? Kopa's closer to his age, and I did study child psychology—once, for half of a semester. Under the direction of an incompetent student teacher…who was sacked later that year…for cooking up drugs in his room. Know what, on second thought, you're right. Maybe we should duck out for a while."

_Ten minutes later_

"Where are you from, _mein Kind?_" Hermann momentarily forgot his "no German" rule.

"From back there, where the others came from. Are you hiding something behind your back?"

"No, there's absolutely nothing there but air," Hermann said as he brought both hands to the front and turned them palms-outward; for once, there really was nothing concealed in a closed fist or a pants pocket. He had always rested his hands, when empty, behind his back since before he could remember, but he suddenly came to the realization that doing so might be better off avoided, especially since he was already quite skilled at hiding things in his hands in perfect plain sight. "See, nothing in the hands, nothing around the back"—he turned all his back pockets out, an ever-reliable hiding spot for odd objects here and there—"nothing up the pants cuffs, and nothing inside the shirt." Hermann shook each of his feet a few times and un-tucked his shirt, even though it went against his ingrained inclinations to stay well dressed in front of new acquaintances, so that anything underneath would have had to fall out, and then sat down. "The only thing I've got that you can't see is my watch, and that never comes off. So tell me a bit about yourself; how long has it been since you last ate anything?"

The cub looked at Nala, waiting for her to tell him if it was OK to answer. "Go ahead," she said, "you can tell him."

"Three days, I think."

"Does anything hurt? Any sort of pain that's bothering you?" Hermann had to check himself before he asked the rest of the questions he normally asked patients, remembering that lion cubs wouldn't be taking prescription medication (or feeling any side effects from them), pre-authorizing insurance co-pays at the front reception, or seeking his advice through another physician's referral.

"No, I'm just hungry...and tired."

_And probably scared as well, I would imagine_, Hermann thought. "I don't need to see anything more," he said to Nala. "He needs a square meal, someplace secure to bed down, and someone to look after him…not anything I've got in my bag of tricks over there."

"Are you sure?" Nala asked.

"Quite," Hermann answered. "Apart from being skinny, there's nothing physically wrong with him. He's a frightened kid, that's all; he'll come around in due time. Am I remembering correctly that you said he didn't have a name?"

"I didn't say that; he did."

"Well he's got to have a name, doesn't he? Even the local crocodile—who, needless to say, gave us a serious helping hand tonight—has a name around here. Why don't we ask him if there's something he prefers?"

"Is there something you'd like us to call you?" Nala asked the cub. "You'll need a name, now that you're staying here with us."

"I don't know," he responded, "uh, what's _your _name?"

"My name? It's—

"Not you; him."

"_Me_?" Hermann asked. "I didn't tell you before?"

"No. You didn't."

"All right then…my full name is Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, but there's no need to ever use—

"That's really long."

"Indeed it is. That's why I'm just called Hermann except in certain circumstances."

"What was the middle part? The one that sounded like _volf-_something."

"You mean 'Wolfgang'? That is my second name; it doesn't run in the family, so to speak, but my first name does. My father is Hermann Dietrich, you see, and I'm—

"I like the way it sounds. Wolfgang…Wolf-gang…Wo-lf-ga-ng..." _Uh-oh, _Hermann thought, _I think I know where this is going._

"Is that what you'd like to be called?" Nala asked. "Do you want that to be your name?"

"I think so, if it's OK with him." The cub looked up at Hermann expectantly.

"No problems at all, _right_, Hermann?" Nala said with a stern face.

"I guess if there's no other—

"_No problems, right?_" She silently mouthed the words 'say yes'.

"Uh, right, no problems. So then, uh, _Wolfgang_, would you like to come outside with us? We're going to have ourselves a bit of a celebration, but we can fix you a warm spot to sleep and some food if you're too tired to stay up. I think I'll set Markos doing that as soon as he gets back, just to keep him from giving us a repeat performance of thirty minutes ago.

"I thought I was going to sleep outside, alone. I get to stay inside?"

"Yes, why _wouldn't_ you be allowed to stay with everyone else?"

"I've only ever slept by myself before; mother didn't let anyone else come near me. You aren't going to take me back…there…are you? It's so cold and scary and dark…"

Hermann saw the shivering start back up again. "No, of course I'm not going to take you back!" he said. "I can explain everything to you at length tomorrow morning, in as much detail as you desire, but for now, all you need to know is that you've got a new life from here on: no more rocks, no more going hungry, no more being cold and afraid. Maybe I can even get the old singing voice in tune for you; mind you, I'll need to prepare properly, over the course of about thirty minutes with a fine bottle of Remy Martin—properly warm and in a snifter, of course, not in a room-temperature rocks glass—and something to check my pitches against." Nala smiled and rolled her eyes. "OK fine, no cognac, no tuner. Some work environment this is!"

"You talk really funny, mister. Can you not make your _w _sounds?" Wolfgang, feeling just a bit prouder than before having finally acquired a name of his own, couldn't keep his laughter from escaping, possibly because it was the first time he had actually laughed in weeks. To his surprise, nobody scolded him for it.

"Welcome to 'Understanding the German Accent 101', son…if you're going to have a German name, you'd better learn to get used to the accent as well." Hermann said it all with a smile so that he couldn't possibly be misconstrued as cross. "Now why don't you head on outside and reconnect with your family; they've been asking after you."

"You mean I'm allowed to see them?"

"You are, for as much time as you want. And go and have some fun while you're at it; buddy up with Kopa, he'll show you the ropes."

"What does he look like?"

"He has a brown tuft of hair on his head and wears a football jersey from time to time when the mood strikes him. And he knows basic German. Trust me, he's pretty easy to pick out of a crowd." _A lion cub named Wolfgang, _Hermann said to himself as he watched Nala step back outside with the cub in tow. _Every single time I think I've gone and seen it all, I'm proven resolutely wrong about half a second later._

The rest of the night went exactly according to expectations. Grilled meat was served for the two men, while the lions ate theirs raw, all swapping stories and learning each others' names. Toasts were offered—with water, of course—welcomes exchanged, and for the first time that Hermann could remember in his life, his favorite German bar songs were performed with all participants stone-cold sober. Once the last chorus of _Prost, Prost, Kamerad_ had concluded, the celebrants made their way inside, Kopa having been persuaded for this night at least to give up his spot.

Much to Hermann's enjoyment, Wolfgang's first experience being reassuringly tucked into the warm security of a sleeping bag, coupled with the sudden realization that he truly wasn't going to be harmed or spend the night shivering in the wind, was a near replica of Kopa's premiere encounter with the same piece of human camping equipment. "I'm going to sort out who gets the second bed," Hermann said to the cub as the rest of the pride began to lay down for the night. "You should shut your eyes and get some rest; it's been a long day for all of us. Damn this ringing in my ears, I wonder if I'll ever get rid of it…" He started to hobble away.

"Wait, mister, where are you going? Come back."

"You don't have to call me 'mister' anything; just call me 'Hermann', the same as you'd speak to anyone else here. What's bothering you…are you cold? I can give you my sweater if you need another layer."

"No, I'm not cold; I just—I can't sleep. I've never been able to fall asleep on my own."

"Then how did you sleep back in the Outlands?"

"I had a friend; he would come visit me at night and tell me little stories. Mother knew about him, but she couldn't keep him away. She didn't even want to get near him."

"Why not? What was she so hung up on?"

"Have you ever seen an angry porcupine?"

"Seen it, no; know about it, yes. So it's a story you want, is it? I think I've got a few of those on tap. What if I tell you a bit about how your name became so famous; would you like to hear that one?"

"OK!"

"All right…in the year 1756, in Salzburg, Austria—

"What's a Salzburg?"

"It's a city in Europe."

"'Europe'?"

"_Oy gevalt…_I think this might work a bit better if you just close your eyes and listen as opposed to over-thinking. It'll help you get to sleep faster as well; like I've always told my patients, it doesn't do any good trying to fall asleep with your eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Shall I start again?"

"Please. I promise I won't interrupt."

"Right. In the year 1756, in the city of Salzburg, Austria, a boy who would eventually compose over six hundred catalogued works, six hundred and twenty-six, to be exact, was born under the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. At only five years of age, he had already become proficient in piano and violin…"

The fire outside burned on for hours, fueled by the breeze and the ample supply of remaining wood. Pride Rock had not fallen or switched hands, and its defenders had not been broken; the spot designated earlier in the day as an unofficial twelve-hour German outpost had begun and ended its protective tenure under the same appellation. Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD had won the night.


	30. Ein Neuankömmling

AN: the German expression when Markos runs out of the cave means "I'm going to puke my guts out." Whatever it was he saw, it didn't sit well with him.

**DREIβIG**

_**Ein Neuankömmling**_

Hermann knew his days in Africa were now numbered, and he wasn't looking forward to that inevitable night when he would have to say his goodbyes to Kopa and board a plane back to Germany. He hoped against hope that some bizarre set of circumstances might allow Kopa to accompany him aboard the airliner; he imagined spending many blissful hours explaining what a plane was and how it flew through the air, giving a private tour of the Stuttgart concert hall and the university library filled floor to ceiling with books, be he knew that the chances of such a thing actually taking place were almost zero: Kopa belonged in Africa, and Hermann in Germany. At least, this was what the maxims of common logic seemed to dictate. Nevertheless, despite the encroaching departure date, leaving for Berlin International Airport was the last thing on Hermann's mind. He still had work to do: a concert to give, and an honor to be bestowed upon him and Markos. Morning, noon, and evening found Hermann and Kopa outside together without fail, teacher and student at the world's smallest music conservatory. In Germany, Hermann's voice teacher had frequently described his job as being one half musician and one half drill sergeant. Hermann hadn't thought much of it until now…and then he realized what he sounded like in the position of the teacher instead of the student:

"_Front legs together! Back legs square! Stomach in! Chest out! Head held high! Breaths into the back of the lungs!"_

He had always been an exacting learner, and saw no reason to not be a similarly demanding teacher, within reason, of course. He could tell from the start that Kopa didn't mind repeating the same section over and over or rearticulating the finer points of a musical line; Kopa was so engrossed, in fact, that by the time his much-awaited performance with Hermann rolled around, he had become not only proficient in the music, but also in the frequent use of the same correction phrases Hermann used, German accent and all ("Wait, wait, wait, would you mind telling me exactly what _that _was supposed to be?"quickly became his favorite). The day before he and Hermann were set to finally perform, concert practice was on as soon as the sun came up. About ten minutes into their typical morning warm-up exercises, Hermann and Kopa were unexpectedly interrupted. Neither of them realized that the interruption would cause their audience for the following day's performance to increase by one.

"Herr Sterlitz, a word, please." Hermann was right in the middle of his D scale when Simba stopped him. "Up a bit early, are we, Simba?" he said.

"Yes, along with everyone else!" Simba replied. "You didn't leave anyone asleep with that last high note."

"Then I think I've done my job. What's going on?"

"I thought I'd ask your advice about something. You see, for some time now, Adila has had…a new family member scheduled to arrive."

"Travel delays, eh? I can sympathize; just last year, my father got stuck at the airport in London for more than a day and half. By the time he finally got on the flight back to Germany—

"I think you misunderstand," Simba said with a laugh. "How should I put it…he's scheduled to arrive, but not quite in the way you're thinking of."

"Well, just tell me where he's coming from and I'll drive out to find him."

"You won't find him with that car. And he won't be riding in one of your airplanes, for that matter."

"Damned no-fly list…"

"_Hermann!_" Kopa whispered, tapping at his underbelly with his right paw, _"he's coming from in here!"_

"Oh. _Oh, _I see! Cub on the way, got it. So when's the big day?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Simba said. "I don't have the training you do, but I think…"

"You think what?" Hermann and Kopa asked at the same time.

"I think the 'big day' started an hour or so ago!"

"Wow, congratulations! You're going to have another cub in the pride!" Simba didn't seem to share Hermann's sense of exuberance, even though he was as excited as everyone else. "You look worried. Are you?"

"Worried, not yet; concerned, yes. After all she did to help us, and seeing as she's Vitani's closest relative, I just don't want anything to go wrong, you understand? She's never done this before."

"Sure, I understand. But I doubt that any of those worries are warranted in truth; if the learning curve were really that steep for childbirth, nobody would ever survive!" Hermann saw his attempt to be jocular wasn't very helpful. "I'll see what I can do. Where's Markos? _Schreiber, wo bist?_"

"Right here," Markos answered from behind him, soaked from head to toe.

"What have you done this time? Why are you all wet?"

"Is it against the law now to bathe? I thought you'd appreciate me taking the time out to make sure I don't smell."

"Fair enough. And yes, I do appreciate that, very much in fact."

"So what's going on? It better not involve shooting anything; I've used up my one lifetime lucky shot already."

"No, no rifles needed, thankfully." Hermann quickly filled Markos in on Adila.

"Well to be honest, I'm not at all surprised," Markos said after Hermann had finished speaking. "I always thought she looked a little bigger through the midsection than the rest. And when I—

"Wait a second," Hermann interrupted, "so you're saying that you knew about this the entire time, and yet you didn't ever ask her if she was carrying a cub? Markos, you're killing me here; if I'd know ahead of time, we might have been able to make a few preparations!"

"'Ask her if she had a cub', what makes you think I'd ask her that? Is that a serious question?"

"Yes, of course I'm being serious! Why wouldn't you be able to ask?"

"You never, ever, _ever_ ask a lady if she's with child unless you're absolutely sure of it!"

"Why not? What could possibly be the harm in asking?"

"Munich, October 15th of last year, that's the harm in asking. Or do you not remember what happened?"

"Please, enlighten me for old times' sake."

"I ran into my former girlfriend there with her new boyfriend and saw she had…a bit of a stomach. So I told her congratulations, thinking she had a kid coming in a few months. No such luck."

"How did she react?"

"Two policemen and a passing nun couldn't restore order."

"Ah, dear, I forgot how hard life must be when you're the bedroom ambassador of Dresden."

"Boys!" Simba interrupted, choosing to ignore the fact that the people he was addressing were in fact older than he was, "I don't think you two arguing out here is going to help things!"

"You heard the boss," Hermann said, "get in there and see to Adila."

"I…you're going to have to handle this one," Markos replied weakly. "I don't do well with this sort of thing."

"How can you 'not do well' with it? You're a physician for God's sake, it's your job!"

"Yes, I am a physician; an internist, the same as you are! Not a delivery man!"

"OK, I'm only going to explain this to you once: the delivery man is the guy who brings you Chinese take-away at 3am on Saturday night because you're too drunk to microwave a hot pocket. An _obstetrician_ is a person who specializes in childbirth. You of all people should know the difference between the two."

"I don't care what you call it! I took care of Zira, so this one's on you!"

"Come on now, what's so awful about it? We all studied obstetrics in school…does blood bother you?"

"Of course it doesn't. How could I be a doctor if I were afraid of seeing blood?"

"OK then, what about guts? Any problems there?"

"Nope. I've seen more than enough of those, and never thought twice about it."

"So what you're saying is, you'd have no difficulty looking at a dismembered corpse, but you can't stand to watch a child be born. And you were saying _I'm _the one who needs the shrink?"

"Correct and correct."

"Just for the record, I think I'll have them replace my leg before they start working on my head."

"Yeah, good point. At least the leg might be salvageable."

"Look, if it's bothering you, just think of it this way instead." Hermann could see out of the corner of his eye that Simba was getting even more nervous and impatient. "You're the 'delivery man', as you so eloquently described the job, and you've got to deliver the food to the customer. But instead of food, it's a cub, and instead of a customer waiting on the phone, it's someone screaming their lungs out and in desperate need of an epidural… know what, this metaphor just isn't going to work."

"You realize I'm never going to be able to order Chinese again because of that little speech just now, right?"

"Get in there…" With a forceful shove, Hermann sent Markos backpedaling into the cave. "What's his problem?" he asked Simba, who was similarly confused. "I don't understand how you can go through medical school and see all there is to see, and still not—

"_Ach, nein! Nein, nein, nein, mir ist speiübel!_" The German interjection cut Hermann's pontification short. Only seconds after going inside, Markos came running back out, clutching his stomach and covering his mouth with the other hand.

"_Gonna be sick, gonna be sick…_"

"I guess he's never done this kind of thing either?" Simba asked worriedly as Markos went sprinting off behind a bush.

"How about some Chinese food?" Hermann called out, still amazed that a doctor literally couldn't stomach the scene unfolding inside. "Oh well. You know how it goes, 'if you want something done right…"

"Yes?" Simba asked.

"'If you want something done right, then you have to do it yourself'. You've never heard that expression before?"

"No, I haven't."

"I don't believe it; it's a miracle!"

"_What's_ a miracle?"

"I actually know an expression in English that you don't!"

Hermann had never gone anywhere near a maternity ward, even though he worked in a hospital and often had children as his patients. The closest he had ever come had been through humorous word-of-mouth from the doctors and nurses, as well as from a few coworkers who already had kids of their own. Even though he always laughed when he remembered, Hermann thought it would be best not to retell the stories of how one expectant mother had grabbed the attending physician by his necktie and demanded all the morphine in the hospital, and how another had described the entire experience as akin to 'angry prisoners playing full contact rugby in your stomach'. He figured he could always tap into that lighter side of the ordeal once all was said and done with (and once Markos had finally stopped being sick in the bushes). Much more pressing on his mind was the question of how, exactly, one spoke to someone else in this particular condition without getting exceedingly awkward. The best he could do when he went inside was a feeble, "So, um, how's…you know…what are you…you need anything?" to Adila.

"How many questions were in that sentence?" Adila asked between breaths, lying on her side.

"Three, I think," Hermann answered.

"I counted four. Is it supposed to be like this?"

"Is what?"

"You know, _it_! I've never had a—

She stopped speaking and gritted her teeth, letting the air out in a sharp exhalation a few seconds later. "What was that…is that supposed to happen?"

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to breathe deeply when it happens as opposed to holding your breath," Hermann suggested. "And if the stories I've heard are true, copious bouts of loud swearing has medicinal value as well." Like his earlier joke with Simba, Hermann's quip didn't have much of an effect on Adila. "What's the matter, is there anything wrong?" he asked her, sensing that something or other wasn't quite right. He could imagine that anyone in Adila's situation would have concerns or questions, but even so, he wasn't expecting the answer that she gave him.

"I'm…sort of scared."

Hermann was quite surprised, to the extent that he even felt a bit embarrassed for not picking up on the signs earlier and doing something to be helpful in response. He knew that for Adila—or any of the Outlanders for that matter, all of whom had been in an emotion-verboten environment for years until only days ago—to admit that much, the word 'scared' had to be an exponential understatement, more on par with needing a clean pair of pants than having a simple fright spell. Still, he knew that he of all people had an advantage in this particular case.

"You haven't got anything to worry about," he said, "like I told Simba, if the learning curve were so steep—

"Easy for you to say…"

"I know, it _is _rather easy for me to say. But I can also say that with more confidence than most because I happen to have lots of training in this field. Training which, when properly used and applied, makes me an absolute nightmare for anything that even thinks about going wrong. Isn't that right, Kopa?" He had forgotten that Kopa was still outside with his father, and had no way of hearing the question.

When no reply came, for obvious reasons, Hermann did his best to redirect. "Actually, speaking of Kopa," he continued, "he always liked it when I talked to him; it gave him something else to think about for the time being. And I'm not surprised, actually; it's been proven more than once that hearing spoken voice or music has positive effects on patients." _Dispense with the prologue and get to the point already, Sterlitz, _he said to himself. "I could do the same for you, if you like, tell some stories and such…if that's something you think would help. I'd be just as happy sitting here and keeping my big mouth shut."

"I guess that would be OK," Adila said. "You could tell a few of your stories."

"We'd all like to hear one," Nala said. "Why don't you tell us something about your life before you went into school? What was it like growing up in Germany?"

"I'm not sure I remember anything well enough from that time…what about something from my university years, or—

"Nothing about medical school. I don't think she needs any more reminders of what's going on than need be, don't you?"

"Point taken." Hermann took a seat and stretched his legs out. "Let's see…OK, got it. This would have been almost twenty years ago, when I went with my family to a football match in Berlin. Germany was playing Brazil in an international exhibition, and all of us won tickets to go see them play. When we got up for the halftime break, I accidentally got separated from my parents; I think I was distracted by someone selling food…you know how it is with little kids."

Adila seemed intrigued. "Where was the— ow…it's coming back…"

"You can't tense up when that happens," Nala said. "I wonder if…Hermann, give her your hand," She thinking back to when her son had been in a similar situation not so long ago. "Let her squeeze it whenever the pain starts, that might help." Hermann thought about objecting, as Kopa was not nearly as strong, but he knew the look Nala was giving him perfectly: _stop talking and just nod your head yes._ He stuck his hand out, silently praying to get it back with all five fingers in one piece, and went on with his soccer tale.

"So I'm running all over the place looking for my mom and dad, and I run smack into the legs of this very tall man wearing a Brazilian football team shirt. I didn't know who he was, but I showed him my ticket with my seat number on it, and he was able to take me back. We couldn't really talk to each other—I didn't speak any English at the time, being only nine years old, and he didn't speak German—but still, the whole time we were walking back together, all these people were stopping and staring, snapping pictures…even my parents stood there open-mouthed for a few seconds before thanking the man for bringing me back. Of course, I didn't put it all together until the next day, when a picture of the two of us appeared in the newspaper, with the caption 'The luckiest football fan in Germany'."

"Who was it?" Nala asked.

"Pelé. Arguably the greatest player in the history of the world to ever play the game. He was there watching the Brazilian team, and I of all people literally ran into him in the stadium. I still have the newspaper clipping with our picture in it, the 'King of Football' leading this tiny German kid—me—around by the hand."

Hermann suddenly stopped, not because he had reached the end, but because his hand was quickly becoming squashed. The grip around it was getting steadily stronger by the second, to the point that he became more than a little concerned. "OK, that's enough!" he said. "We don't want to break any of my—

_Snap_

"_Gaah!_ _Es schmerzt wie verückt!"_

"What was that?" Vitani asked. "A tree branch breaking outside? I thought I just heard something crack."

"Do me a favor," Hermann said, his hand still inextricable from Adila's paw, "next time, just break the other four at once and be done with it!"

_Late afternoon_

"Can I get a substitution? Nala, take over for just a bit, will you? I need to get some air."

"'A substitution'? I think your mind's stuck playing football."

"I can't help it. I've been talking about football already today, and Markos has been outside kicking our own ball around for hours. I'm probably going to be dreaming to that kicking noise for the next three weeks."

"Go ahead," Nala said, taking up Hermann's spot next to Adila. "I'll wait for you. Simba's out there as well; you should bring him up to date."

Hermann hadn't ever intended asking for a break, but he hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day, and he hadn't intended to spend so much time inside either. _Five minutes_, he told himself, _just five minutes to stretch the legs, have a look at this finger of mine in the sunlight, and scarf some pretzels, then it's back to business_. Outside, Markos was still kicking a ball against a wall, trying his best to forget that the morning's events had ever taken place, while Simba stood nearby watching the one-man soccer match. The constant _kick, kick, kick_ sound would have proven incredibly annoying in any other situation, but for the time being, Hermann had much more pressing matters on his mind.

"It's been hours, Simba; the sun's starting to make a run for it. Does it normally take this long?"

"Does what?"

"You know…_it_!"

"Not usually. Is there anything at all you can do?"

"Something to make it go faster, you mean? I'm afraid not; we might have gone past the point of normalcy, but even still, she's got to just wait it out. Sure, I wish there was something I could do, but without a sterile operating theater, a surgical team, whiskey…"

"What's the whiskey for?"

"To settle the nerves a bit before I attempt an operation I've never done before, that's what. And it might take the edge off of this broken finger as well."

"Did she really break it?"

Hermann held up his hand and gingerly extended his index finger, which had ballooned to twice its normal size. "You tell me."

"Wow. That looks—

"Forget it, it's not important. How quickly do you think you can make it to the pond and back?"

"Five minutes each way, if I run."

"Then it's close enough. _Markos, give me your shirt._"

"What do you need my shirt for?" Markos asked, picking up the soccer ball.

"Just give it to me, will you? I'll explain in a minute," Hermann replied as he pulled his own shirt off and handed it to Simba along with Markos's. "Take these down to the pond," he said. "Get them completely wet, and try to avoid picking up any mud or sand. Once you've done that, come back as quickly as you can."

Simba picked up the two shirts in his mouth and was about to run off, but he did a double-take when he caught sight of Hermann's chest.

"I thought you told me humans don't have manes," he said, trying to keep his mouth closed. "What's that, then?"

"There's a big difference between a mane and chest hair. We're wasting time; go, while it's still light enough to see. And one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Don't let Roberto eat those."

Simba hurried off to the pond, both shirts flapping behind him.

"What are the shirts for?" Markos asked.

"To hold water. We can't afford to waste the purified water in the canteens, so the shirts will have to serve as sponges."

"I thought that was an old wives' tale, that whole bit about boiling water."

"Duh. I know that. We're not going to boil it."

_Kick, kick, kick_

"Do you ever get tired of batting that football around?"

"Nope. Have a go yourself; I want to see what Hermann Sterlitz looked like in his prime."

"You're kidding, right? There's a reason I have the letters "MD" after my name, as opposed to my last name on the back of a jersey." Hermann pointed down to his right leg. "I can't play anymore, you know that, and I should be getting back inside regardless."

"You've never even tried since you hurt yourself! Kick it with your good foot and see what happens."

"I'm not left-footed; I haven't even kicked one of these for years. I'll probably put the ball in the next country."

"Really? I'll bet you five Euros you can still play."

"Show it to me."

Markos pulled a small, gray banknote out of his pocket and put it on top of a rock. "You hit the wall within the limits of a standard goal, and the cash is yours to keep."

Hermann couldn't pass up the chance at becoming five Euros richer. He placed the ball twelve yards from the rock wall and stepped back behind it, deliberately to the wrong side so that he would have to deliver the kick with his non-dominant foot. _Here goes nothing_, he thought, thinking he might even miss the ball completely or trip over his feet on the run-up, but none of that happened. Two measured steps and one mighty swing of the leg later, the soccer ball went flying straight ahead into the wall as if shot from a cannon, and ricocheted directly back at Markos, who caught it on the fly with his hands.

"Red card," Hermann said, his left foot still hanging in the air. "Handball in the penalty area."

"I don't believe it," Markos said aghast, "that was incredible! You just kicked it harder than I ever could, and that's with two good feet to stand on and the choice of legs to kick with! You know what this means, don't you? All this time you've been going on about never playing football again, and it turns out you're just as good as ever!"

"From a standing start, with nobody defending against me, right in front of the net," Hermann objected. "But who knows, maybe Stuttgart will sign me on as a designated free kick taker." Just then, he heard at least two voices, perhaps three, shout for him from inside. "Uh-oh," he said, "I think it's halftime."

"What does that mean?" Markos asked. "And no more metaphors! Speak like a normal person."

"Fine, you want it in plain old German? It is my professional medical opinion that the size of this pride of lions is about to increase by one, sometime in the next sixty to one hundred and twenty seconds."

"Ugh, never mind, go back to the metaphors. They made you sound like slightly less of a nerd."

Unbeknownst to both men, however, there would be no need to wait "sixty to one hundred and twenty seconds" for anything, metaphorical in nature or otherwise. When Hermann got inside, the first thing he saw was a new cub, next to an exhausted but smiling Adila and her family—Vitani and the other ten Outlanders, with the one addition of Nala. He also saw that he would be flipping a coin with Markos once again for possession of the one other bed that night—a practice he had come to detest, as he almost always lost the coin toss—but in truth, he didn't care in the slightest. All he felt was pride, accomplishment for having played a part, small as it was, in the tiny cub's journey into the world. "What are you going to call him?" Hermann finally asked. "It is a 'him', isn't it?"

"Yes, it's a 'him'. He hasn't got a name yet," Nala said, assuming (correctly) that Adila might appreciate not having to do too much talking. "How's your finger?"

"Any worse, and I'd be chopping it, thanks for asking. _Markos, the coast is clear,_" he called out in German. "_You can come in now._"

"_No tricks?"_

"_No tricks, I promise._" He heard Markos start to walk inside with Simba, who had just come back from the pond."See, what did I tell you?_" _Hermann said to Adila. "You did fine." He picked up one of the wet shirts, carefully toweled off the newborn cub, and placed him next to his mother under a blanket. "He's absolutely adorable. Any ideas on what you're going to call him?"

"I don't know yet." Adila yawned and blinked her eyes heavily. "Thanks…Hermann…maybe you can help me decide…" Hermann didn't even have a second to speak in return before mother and cub were both asleep.

"That's got to win the award for the cutest thing I've seen all year," Markos whispered. I hope she wasn't too offended by my, uh, stomach problems."

"I doubt she even remembers; she's probably got more important things to think about that you losing your lunch. I, on the other hand, found it extremely entertaining and don't have any plans to ever forget about it."

Seeing that all had ended well, the rest of the pride started to retire for the night; Hermann ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Whew…I think I'm as glad as Adila is that all that's over." It was more of a general statement than a declaration to anyone in particular.

"So am I," Simba said, stepping forward to look at the new arrival. "A new cub, and just in time for your induction."

"Careful, not too close," Hermann cautioned. "When's that induction going to be, anyway?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"_Tomorrow?"_

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But I haven't had any time to prepare any remarks! Markos needs to learn some basic phrases in English, I need to write a statement of acceptance—

Simba looked over at Hermann's notebook, open to a page containing scribbling legible only to the person who had written them. "That won't be necessary, but I know better than to try and convince you to give up on things you've already decided to do. As such, the best advice I can give you," he said with a grin, "is that you pick up your pen and paper, and start writing."


	31. Vom Herzen her

**EINUNDDREIβIG**

_**Vom Herzen her**_

Hermann, dressed in a shiny pair of black shoes, dark gray trousers and a gray blazer, picked up a sheet of paper and read aloud: "Your bestowing this honor upon me, and upon my colleague, is a great honor." He scowled immediately, seeing that he had used the same word twice in one sentence, and crumpling the sheet of paper, threw it into a corner where it joined seven of its like-destined friends.

"I hate English," he said. "If only I could write this thing in German—

"Nobody but me and maybe Kopa would understand you," Markos interrupted.

"Look, I'm not used to public speaking. What's so irrational about wanting to do it in one's native language?"

"Nothing, but we abandoned the tenets of rationality as soon as we found this place. And you don't have any problems with public _singing, _so why should this be any harder?"

"I speak German, I sing in German. _QED._"

"So sing it, then. For practice."

"An acceptance speech set to 'Ode to Joy'? That'll be the first of its kind…"

Just then, one of the lionesses walked in carrying a gazelle. Markos instantly sprung up, pocketknife in hand. "Oh boy, filet mignon! Sterlitz, we're eating well tonight!"

"Oh no you don't," Hermann said as he grabbed Markos by the shirttails. "Adila gets first dibs on that; she needs to eat well to nurse her cub. You and I, and everyone else, get the leftovers."

"Couldn't I just cut off one of the little—

"_No! _I'm not discussing it any further!"

"Fine, I don't care…you're not top banana around here anyway, Simba is."

"What was that?"

"_¿Qué?_"

"Don't play Spanish amnesia with me, I heard you mutter something under your breath. Now what was it?"

"_Parlez-vous Français, monsieur?_"

"Some days, I just can't figure out why I haven't killed you yet."

"You just don't seem like the murdering type. Have you written down the oath yet?"

"Oath? What oath?"

"_The _oath, remember? The last part of this ceremony we're partaking in…you recite your statement of acceptance, then Simba says bunch of words to you, you say 'I accept' or something of that nature, and then you say a bunch of words to him, and the whole thing goes in reverse."

"Oh, no, I completely forgot about that part! What do I have to go on? We don't have a pride or anything like that…what am I supposed to use?"

"You could use the national oath of office. You know the words to that. Or the oath of citizenship."

"Nobody's taking office here, and I couldn't grant citizenship even if I wanted to. Only government officials can do that."

"Official citizenship, yes. But Simba's designated you as a representative of Germany."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, as far as he's concerned, you're the government official. You can do anything that they can."

"Good luck explaining that to the Bundestag."

"Do you always have to be so technical? We're going to be part of this pride, but we're not lions; why can't Simba get some sort of recognition, even though he's not a person? With him, you have as much power here as anyone in Berlin does...if you say something's official, then it's official. You even look the part; you've got a little flag pin on your lapel, haven't you?"

"I suppose you've got a point there."

"All that matters is that you offer him something in return, some sort of token of respect. Honorific for honorific."

Hermann went back to writing. This time, he made it a full paragraph before tossing the paper aside and starting anew. "OK," he said, "this time, I'll get it right."

"You'll get what right?" It was Kopa, who had decided to check in momentarily on the two honorands. "Hi, Hermann! You look nice…what's that around your neck?"

"That's a necktie. It's something you don't wear except for formal occasions."

"What about your jacket? It looks like there's some sort of picture on it."

"That it is." Hermann pointed to the symbol on his lapel. "It's the insignia of my university; this jacket was given to me when I got my degree."

"Does everybody get one?"

"Yes, all the medical students do. It's a ceremonial thing; there's the same illustration on Markos's jacket, if you look. One bar under the insignia denotes a degree _cum laude_, two bars indicate _magna cum laude_, and three bars are for _summa cum laude_. Most of the time, you wouldn't wear a jacket with any sort of symbol on it, but this is all we had in our closets…and to be honest, neither of us were actually counting on putting them on! Still, I suppose academic dress is better than no dress at all."

"You have three bars; does that mean you got your degree with…with that really long word?"

"Yes, it means I graduated at the very top of my class."

"And Markos? What about him; how many bars does he have?"

"He has two. Don't remind him, or it'll restart a fight that took three months to settle. He's convinced the office made a mistake and cheated him out of the third bar."

"Did they?"

"No. I saw his transcript. It was excellent…just not as excellent as mine!"

"I've got to go join my dad outside; don't worry, you'll do fine. I'll be watching you. Just speak from your heart."

_That's all I need, even more pressure_, Hermann thought as Kopa scampered off. _What would I say 'from the heart?' 'Ladies and gentlemen, the man standing at my left needs a lobotomy'? At least that would be honest, but I'm not sure if honestly necessarily counts as heartfelt._

"You're not writing, Sterlitz," Markos chided from across the room. "And do I really have to wear this jacket? Who wears graduation regalia to an induction ceremony?"

"It's just a university jacket, nothing more. We're not wearing caps and gowns…that really _would _look strange. What's the time?"

"You've got a watch…use it."

"Noon. We're T minus one hour. I guess I really do need to start writing again." With that, Hermann sat back down to take up his pen and paper once more. Markos started putting the finishing touches on his appearance; when he straightened his jacket out over his shoulders, he saw the insignia on the lapel with two bars underneath. _Stupid admissions office_, he thought as he enviously eyed Hermann's third bar. _If only they'd set the grade point cutoffs two-tenths lower, I'd have gotten the same—_

"Markos?" Hermann, who could easily tell what Markos was looking at, broke his friend's train of thought.

"Yeah? What is it?" Markos replied.

"You don't need red bars on your jacket to tell you how many lives you've helped save."

_One hour later_

Markos and Hermann were inside, alone. The rest of the pride, the audience for their induction, was waiting for them in a semicircle. Only Kopa had seen both of them dressed to the nines, and only he (and Simba) had a vague idea of how the whole ceremony was going to work. Still, he knew more than either of the two men; all they knew was that at some point, they would be called out individually by name. From then on, their guess as to what would happen next was as good as anyone else's.

"You remember how to salute?" Hermann asked. "Both feet together, left hand at your side…"

"I know how to make a salute, Sterlitz. Do _you _know how to stand at attention without falling over?"

"One can only hope so."

"_Markos Wilhelm Schreiber, MD."_

"Go," Hermann said. "That's your cue…and don't forget what I said about sticking to protocol. Make your steps equal, walk towards him in a straight line, and stand at attention when you're a few paces away. Look ahead, don't move, and don't talk. Treat it like graduation, but even more formal."

"I would think it's more formal than graduation. I was asleep the whole time that morning."

"You were asleep? Why?"

"Who could possibly stay awake for that? Three hours of listening to boring people talking about boring things…forgive me if I tuned out. Oh, before I forget, there's just one thing I've been meaning to tell you."

"What's that?"

"Don't stumble and face-plant in front of Simba. That would look really stupid." Markos whirled around and stepped outside into the light before Hermann could think of a response. As soon as he was out, he brought his feet together, paused for a second or two, and then started walking steadily up the incline. Hermann couldn't see any more of his friend once he had progressed a few paces forward. He waited, silently, until he got his cue:

"_Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD."_

_Here goes nothing, _Hermann thought as he started on his own trip outside. Nervous as he was, he couldn't help feeling like a high-ranking officer or the head professor at an illustrious college as he stepped towards the rest of the waiting pride. The university insignia, the flag pin on his jacket lapel…all of it felt very official, something between military and academic. Fortunately for Hermann, these thoughts served to preoccupy his mind until he was once again abreast of Markos. Both of them now stood at the end of the outcropping comprising the external half of Pride Rock; Hermann had taken care not to look over the edge as he walked, knowing that at least thirty meters of empty airspace lay between his feet and the ground below.

_Left, right, left, right_, he thought as he took each step, trying to even out his gait as best he could (Hermann had forsaken the cane, thinking that perhaps he would look more formal without a long-dead tree branch aiding his balance).

_And…halt._

It was a side of the Hermann and Markos that nobody in the pride, not even Kopa, had ever seen before: both men in their best turnout, standing at full attention. When two right hands simultaneously went up into sharp salutes, Simba actually flinched, not having expected the rapid movement. After a few seconds, Hermann and Markos returned their hands to their sides and waited.

"You can stand at ease, gentlemen." Simba then turned to face the assembled pride. "As you all know, we are here today to induct these two men, Hermann Sterlitz and Markos Schreiber, into our pride. In doing so, they become part of our family, as we become part of theirs; what is ours pertains equally to them, and vice-versa. I think we all know just how indebted we truly are to the people who stand before you at this moment… I shudder to think of just one of the things that might have happened had a certain car not come our way one night three weeks ago. Nevertheless, as the honor we are about to bestow on these men is of the highest order, if there is anyone who believes either person unfit for inclusion in our pride, I invite them to speak now, without fear of retribution or rebuke."

Not one word was spoken; nobody even moved, save for Wolfgang, who was trying to climb onto Vitani's back for a better view.

"I am glad we are all of like mind," Simba continued. "Before we proceed with the exchange of oaths, I believe one of our honorands would like to offer a few words. Hermann, whenever you're ready."

Hermann took a few steps forward and fished a paper out of his pocket. A few of the lionesses around him couldn't help squinting from the sunlight reflecting off his shoes.

"I wrote this for all of you," Hermann began. "It's a statement of acceptance; most of the time, when someone is presented with an honor or an award, they give a speech in return. And my speech is right here, on this piece of paper." Hermann held the sheet aloft so everyone could see it. "There's just one problem…I haven't spoken publicly in years. And my speech, like my speaking skills, stinks." With that, he hastily crushed the paper in his fist and pitched the resulting ball over the side of the rock. Markos shook his head and watched, almost horrified, as the wad of paper heeded the call of gravity.

"I'll be honest with you; I couldn't get that speech to sound right," Hermann continued. "And furthermore, everything I would have said has already been stated numerous times. So if it's alright with all of you, I'm just going to improvise." Hermann paused for a moment and looked around, first at the audience in front of him, then off towards the horizon, and started his address:

"Since the eighteenth year of my life, I have dedicated myself to medicine, and in all likelihood will continue on this path until the day that I die. Perhaps it was to everyone's benefit here that one day on the football pitch, another player gave me the gait I walk with today, and by so doing sent me off to university. I guess we should all be sending him a thank-you card and a box of chocolates." A few lionesses laughed, much to the relief of the speaker. He realized he was stringing together words, accented though they were, into eloquent sentences longer than he had ever spoken before. He had absolutely no idea how he was managing it; unlike past days, when he sometimes had to mentally string ever syllable together before speaking, his speech was perfectly fluid, almost native sounding save for the accented pronunciation.

"Medicine, like life itself, has always had its defining moments: times of discovery, eras of success, and periods of failure. Through these times, whether for better or for worse, we learn more about the healing arts, just as we also learn about ourselves—who we are, and who we have become. And during my time here, I believe I have learned more about myself in three weeks than I did in four entire years of university. To thank for this, I have all of you, but no-one more so than a certain cub we all know and admire, who goes by the name 'Kopa'. As much as you say that you are indebted to me and to Markos, I say that I am equally and graciously in debt…to him."

_Why's he thanking me? _Kopa thought. _He's the one who saved my life, not the other way around. If anything, I should be the one saying this to him. _Hermann kept speaking, and answered Kopa's unspoken question in short order.

"I graduated from Universität Stuttgart in very good standing; I suppose I was continuing the Sterlitz family legacy there, as all my relatives who hold doctoral degrees have that same university's name written across the top of their diplomas. My mentor Friedrich spoke about me as if I were the greatest thing to happen to Olga hospital since its founding. 'You show him a sick patient,' I once heard him say, 'and he'll not only tell you what's wrong with the man, he'll also throw in a few lines of Schubert at the end, just because he can.' But diagnosis, that is only one half of medicine. Knowing when to listen as opposed to speaking, conducting oneself with care and compassion instead of with academic, impersonal indifference—of these things, I admittedly knew very little. In fact, in some respects, I was downright inept. However, thanks to Kopa and everything to which he as enlightened me, even if his doing so was completely unintentional, that person no longer exists. Because of him, I return to Germany, to Stuttgart, a far better man than I was before."

Hermann could feel a touch of sadness building into his normally strong, baritone voice. He was glad that he only had a few sentences left to say.

"Kopa, it is an honor, and a privilege, to know anyone of such admirable caliber as yours. In the face of long odds and terrifying adversity, you not only remained strong and steadfast, but inspired all of us to rise to the same level. I am…extremely proud of you, not only for your courage and bravery, but for the good heart that not even the worst set of circumstances could take away from you. _Danke vielmals und gut gemacht;_ many thanks, and a job well done. That is all."

"I've never heard anyone speak like that…ever," Simba said to Hermann after a few seconds of silence. Kopa, still watching and listening, felt as if he were being honored as much as Hermann and Markos were. "When did you write that?"

"I didn't. I was winging it the whole time. It didn't sound too, you know...Germanic?"

"Of course it sounded Germanic. Just the way it's supposed to sound." Then came the question that everyone had been waiting for and anticipating all day: "Are you willing to take the oath of induction?"

"We are," Hermann answered confidently. "_Raise your right hand, Markos_." Simba didn't know what to make of this courtroom gesture, but he figured that it was just another curious human custom.

"Hermann, repeat after me, please," Simba said. "I, Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, of the city of Stuttgart, Germany, do hereby swear allegiance and loyalty to this pride." Hermann parroted the words back, perfect down to the last syllable. Simba then turned his attention to Markos, at Hermann's left, and spoke considerably slower.

"Markos?"

"Yes?"

"Repeat after me. I, Markos Wilhelm Schreiber…"

"_I, Markos Wilhelm Schreiber…"_

"Of the city of Dresden, Germany…"

"_Of the city of Dresden, Germany..."_

"Do hereby swear allegiance…"

"_Do here-by swear alle…all..._sorry, again, please?"

"Allegiance."

"_Allegiance_…"

"And loyalty to this pride."

"_And loyalty to this pride."_

"_Herzlichen Glückwunsch, Herr Schreiber_," Simba said. "Congratulations."

"_Gut gemacht, Markos!_" Kopa said immediately afterward.

Markos's eyes lit up as soon as he heard his native language spoken. "Thank you," he said. "It is…an honor. Hermann and I, we come here, and none of us expect this. We were strangers, but you treat us like family—both of us equally, although I do not speak…your language. You are welcome in Deutschland anytime."

"How thoughtful…thank you, Markos," Simba said, thoroughly impressed with Markos's English. "Hermann, have you prepared your oath?"

"I have," Hermann replied. "Bear with me on this…it's quite a bit longer than yours. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I am. Go ahead."

"Very good…ladies and gentlemen, the oath to establish recognition between the Federal Republic of Germany and the Kingdom of the Pride Lands is set forth as follows:

_I solemnly swear, before all I hold dear and sacred, that I will dedicate my efforts to the well-being of all who reside in these lands, as well as to those who reside elsewhere. I will welcome all who come here—animals, regardless of species, as well as the citizens and nationals of the Federal Republic of Germany, the European Union, and all the world's nations—as I would welcome my own. I will advocate for justice, protect my subjects from undue harm, promote their welfare, and faithfully fulfill all the duties of my office. Do you agree to the conditions set forth?"_

"Yes, I do…and very well written, I might add!"

"Thank you. I'll admit, it took me a while. Sorry, I digressed a bit there…by the power you have invested in me, and in return for your hospitality and graciousness, I hereby hold your oath binding and grant you recognition on behalf of my country and its people, _honoris causa_." Hermann took the pin off his jacket. "As a symbol of friendship from my homeland to yours, I would like to offer you this. It's not much, but I hope it reminds you of us."

"It's…it's a little flag. Yours, it looks like."

"The German ensign, yes. The same as the one that's flying over us right now."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that flag…were you planning on taking it back with you to Germany?"

"I'm not sure what I was planning on doing with it, why?"

"I was quite hoping you would let us keep it. I'd like it to stay there. Forever."

Hermann smiled and nodded his head. "I'd be honored," he said, clicking his heels together, saluting once more, and then dropping his right hand smartly to his side.

"Welcome to the pride, boys," Simba said with a wide smile. "Go greet your new relatives."

"Thank you again, Simba. We can't tell you how humbled we are by all of this." Hermann extended his right hand.

"Put the handshake away," Simba replied. "No more salutes, no more formalities; there's no need for them."

"There isn't?"

"No. We're family now." With that, Hermann found himself and his colleague in the grip of the strongest and longest bear hug either of them had ever received in their lives. From somewhere far off in the distance, he thought he heard someone speak:

"_That's him…that's my Hermann…"_

Whether the voice belonged to Dietrich or to Friedrich, or if it even existed at all, Hermann would never be able to figure out. But he was totally unconcerned with details. He and Markos were walking on air.


	32. Unter Zwei Freunden

**ZWEIUNDDREI****β****IG**

_**Unter Zwei Freunden**_

"I can't believe it, can you? 'Executive Commandant Markos Wilhelm Schreiber,'…of all the things I've been called in my life, this _has_ to be the best!"

"Don't get too wrapped up in your new name; I've got the same title as you do, remember? If you'll excuse me, I've got the biggest concert of my life to finish preparing for."

"You mean the _only _concert you've ever given in your life."

"That too."

As nervous as Hermann was, he was actually looking forward to performing, as much as the rest of the pride anticipated finally getting to hear him. Kopa, who also had a part in the afternoon's festivities, was also preoccupied…about whether or not he would be able to sneak in a meal or two or three before the performance. His appetite, since the night Hermann and Markos found him, had not only come back, but had returned several times over. But food was the last thing on Hermann's mind; he was too busy scribbling in his book and conducting an imaginary orchestra to think about eating.

"OK, let's just go over this one more time," he said to Kopa, "we're performing eight songs—

"Nine songs," Kopa interrupted.

"Right, nine songs, and you're singing the seventh."

"No, I'm singing the eighth. Is this a new game? Do I have to add one to every number you say?"

"I would hope not. Otherwise, I'd never be trusted with a dosage chart."

"Do you have any food? I'm starving."

"I don't think so, nothing you're used to, at least. Want a pretzel? I think I've got a few left." Hermann reached into an already opened bag and tossed a pretzel over to Kopa, who sniffed at it and looked confused.

"You eat these?" Kopa asked. "They don't look like anything I've ever seen."

"Yes, they're fairly simple to make, in fact. But on second thought, perhaps we shouldn't be eating these. Salty, dry food isn't good for the voice…I should have known better."

"What about the gazelle my mom and the Outlanders brought back this morning? Could I go have some of that?"

"Not if you want to sound your best. And you shouldn't call them 'Outlanders', they're part of your pride now. You don't refer to Vitani that way, do you?"

"No…but that's what _you_ call them, isn't it? _Die Auslander?_"

"Not any more I don't; I try to use their names now, when I can remember them. And you probably heard me say '_Aus dem Ausland_', 'from the Outlands', not '_Auslander_', but I will commend you in that despite never having used either of those words before, your grammar in forming the plurals was completely correct."

"Well, I'm learning from the best."

"Don't, you're going to embarrass me!"

"Who said it was you? Markos speaks German the same as you do." Kopa smiled a wry grin.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Ah—get back here, you're not sneaking off to eat half of that gazelle until we're finished."

"OK, so what _can_ I have, then?"

"Water."

"And what else?"

"More water. Welcome to concert preparation: water, water, and more water. You can eat all you want after we're done."

"But Lied gets to eat all he wants…"

"Who gets to eat what now? What, or who, is 'Lied'?"

"Adila's new cub, that's who. She named him Lied. That means 'song', doesn't it?"

_Unbelievable, two cubs with German names in the same week_, Hermann thought. "Yes," he said, "that is indeed what it means. I'm curious, how did she come to that decision?"

"Because of you. You're the one who gave her the idea."

"I didn't either."

"Sure you did."

"How? I never even spoke with her about her son's name; all I did was help her through the delivery. And I've got the broken finger to remind me."

"So what? You didn't have to talk to her about it. Songs, music—that's what you do."

"But I'm a physician, not a singer. I 'do' medicine; I sing for enjoyment."

"No," Kopa said, suddenly becoming serious-eyed and philosophical in a way that seemed years beyond him. "Fixing people is your _job_. Music is what you _do_."

Hermann didn't try to argue; he knew that Kopa was dead correct, and that anything he would say in response would be positively wrong. "You have a good head on your shoulders, _mein Kind_," he said. "Very well put indeed. What do you say we go over your part once more?"

"OK, I guess it can't hurt. Count me off."

"Just remember one thing the entire time. And it goes for both of us, not just you."

"What's that?"

"Have fun. Let's get out there and enjoy this the way it's meant to be enjoyed. You make those sixteen short bars your own better than anyone I've ever met."

"Because they're me, right?"

"Exactly, because they're you."

"But aren't they technically about someone's girlfriend packing up and leaving him, and not about being brave and getting better after—

"A detail, Kopa…a minor, unimportant detail."

"_Hey Sterlitz, can you help me with the concert arrangements?_"

"What does Markos want?" Kopa asked. "I didn't catch it."

"I'm not sure," Hermann said. "I'll go see; you keep at this for just a bit longer."

"Ah, so glad you showed up," Markos said when Hermann walked outside. "I was beginning to think you'd leave all of the work for me."

"What is it you need me for?"

"Just a bit of rearranging here and there. I've set things up so that you and Kopa are in front of this wall, under the overhang. As long as your top notes don't bring the whole cliff down, the sound should be projected outward. There's no acoustical tuning, obviously, and we've got a stack of rocks for a music stand, but given where we are, it's not at all a bad set-up."

"Why would my voice start a rockslide? Isn't that your specialty?"

"Actually," Markos laughed, "in all seriousness, as many times as you've told me that I could stand in Stuttgart and attract vultures flying over Berlin, that whole deal about cracking glasses and such doesn't have anything to do with how well or poorly someone sings. It's all physics; if your voice happens to match the resonant frequency of something, you get vibrations, and if those vibrations become strong enough, _voila, _broken glass. Skill's got nothing to do with it."

Hermann looked up, rather uneasily, at the rocks overhead. "How likely is it for the two of us to, as you say, 'match the resonant frequency' of that overhang and cause it to drop rather unceremoniously onto us?"

"Remote. I'd hedge my bets on winning the lottery first. Even if you do match the frequency, you'd need to create vibrations on par with an earthquake to bring it down, and the human voice just can't produce that strong of a sound."

"So why did you bother getting me all concerned about it?"

"I've got to keep things interesting around here, don't I? You're more fun when I keep you on your toes."

Hermann started to walk away, clearing away debris as he went. Under his breath, Markos started mumbling:

"Speaking of toes, maybe I shouldn't tell him about his dress shoes until he—

"What?" Hermann interrupted, proving that he had heard every word. "What about my shoes? What's happened to them?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Markos replied in a desperate attempt at redirection, "help me pick up these stray sticks and leaves. We can't have you performing in a dirty—

"Markos, tell me what happened to my shoes right this instant."

"All right already! Wolfgang got into your suitcase while you were out walking this morning, and when I came inside for a drink, he was chewing on the shoes, OK? Don't shoot the messenger; I didn't have anything to do with it."

"But that pair of shoes was two hundred and fifty Euros! The salesman even custom fit them for me."

"I know. I own a pair myself."

"So are you saying they're completely ruined?"

"Pretty much. I told him to stop; I said 'Wolfgang, put those down at once, Hermann's going to be furious,' but of course he didn't understand me. I forgot, just because he has a German name, it doesn't mean he understands the language. And by the time I repeated myself in what English I could, your shoes were history."

"Anything else I should know about?"

"Yes. He said they tasted delicious."

_That afternoon_

"And now it gives me great pleasure to present our own Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, concert baritone, performing Robert Schumann's _Liederkreis von Heine_!" Simba's announcement started a wave of cheering from outside, where nobody, the king himself included, knew that there would be two performers that day instead of one.

"That's our signal," Hermann said. "Are you ready?"

"Ready when you are," Kopa replied. "Did my dad pronounce the name of the piece correctly?"

"Yes, he did."

"Good. He's been practicing."

Together, Hermann and Kopa walked out into the sunlight. Hermann was once again dressed to the nines, save for one minor detail: along with his dark gray trousers, necktie and gray university jacket was a bright white pair of running shoes. The majority of the surprised looks from the audience, however, came not from Hermann's ill-matching footwear but from Kopa's choice of concert attire, namely the bowtie that Markos had worn to the previous day's induction ceremony.

"Thanks for the introduction, Simba." Hermann took up a spot in front of the pride. He could hear a faint echo from his footsteps, and surmised that Markos had indeed gotten the set-up correct: all sounds would be naturally projected out and away from the singer to the audience…including mistakes. Hermann tried his best to not let his mind wander too far down that road as he set his book on the stack of rocks, carefully, so as not to upset the balance, and opened it to the required page. _Ready to go_, he thought as he scanned the faces watching him, _save for the all-important disclaimer._

"_Meine Damen und Herren_, thank you all for coming to this afternoon's performance of Robert Schumann's Opus twenty-four, _Liederkreis von Heine_," Hermann said, speaking and feeling as if he were standing on the podium of the Waldbuhne. "There will be a brief pause between the seventh and eighth songs, but please hold any applause until the completion of the entire piece…and no flash photography, Markos." Despite the bowtie around his neck and Hermann's mention of the "brief pause," the hints at Kopa's upcoming involvement still went over everyone else's heads.

_OK, _Hermann thought, taking in a deep breath and knowing that one cub in particular would be listening to and watching everything he did. _Here goes nothing._

_Morgens steh' ich auf und frage:_

_Kommt feins Liebchen heut…_

In the back of his mind, Hermann knew that without an accompanying piano, the piece didn't sound nearly as good as it could have, but he also knew that nobody in the audience, save for Markos, would know that a piano part existed, or that there even was such a thing as a piano in the first place. For the most part, when his eyes were lifted up from the music, Hermann saw a mixture of contented smiles and utter amazement, both of which he took to be good signs. Rather quickly, however, his self-consciousness evaporated, and he began to pay almost no attention to the actual faces of those who were watching him: the rock backdrop transformed into a wooden wall inlaid with ornate organ pipes; a nearby boulder next to a tree became a Steinway Grand complete with accompanist; the sun was replaced by a sparkling crystal chandelier. So absorbed was Hermann in his own little world that he almost forgot to stop after the seventh of the nine songs in order to cede the podium to someone else. When Kopa walked up to sing his short part, Hermann knelt down on his good leg for a quick word.

"You'll do great," he said, straightening out the bow tie. "Break a leg."

"You want me to break one of my legs? Why?"

"I…I didn't mean that literally. Especially since I'm fresh out of aspirin."

"What do I do if I mess up?"

"Nothing at all. Nobody will ever know." Kopa didn't seem convinced. "Want to know a secret?"

"Okay, what is it?"

"I've already made two mistakes, perhaps three even. Did you notice?"

"No. I didn't."

"Case closed. Now go do your stuff."

As Kopa took a last look at the open book, which Hermann had already placed at ground level for him, he heard a familiar voice speaking in the back of his mind:

"_It sounds like you. It _is _you. Herr Schumann would be proud, that I can say for sure."_

Whatever nervousness there was in his expression immediately disappeared. He looked first at his mother, then at his father, and finally at Hermann, who gave an encouraging nod of the head.

"_Anfangs wollt ich fast verzagen,"_

_Now crescendo_, Hermann mouthed silently from behind the semicircle of watchers.

"_Und ich glaubt ich trüg es nie,"_

_Even more!_

"_Und ich hab es doch getragen,"_

_OK, bring it back down... _

"_Aber fragt mich nur nicht, wie?"_

_And ritard through the ending..._

"_Nicht, wie?_"

The last note slowly reverberated away. _Ah, screw it, _Hermann thought, remembering how he had instructed the pride earlier to not say anything until the performance was completely through. "Bravo, Kopa!" he shouted, touching off a wave of congratulations and cheers. When Simba and Nala both turned and looked his way, Hermann realized, contrary to what he had assumed, that he was not the only one with tears in his eyes.

_Midnight_

"Hermann, it's Markos…wake up, will you?"

"_The crocodile has my credit card…"_

_I know what will get him up in a hurry_, Markos thought. "Hey, Hermann," he whispered, "I have beer. And it's free."

"Where? _Where?_" Hermann sat bolt upright. "Not cool, Schreiber. Not cool at all. What time is it?"

Markos looked at the shiny gold watch on his left wrist. "As best as I can tell, it's twelve AM, one minute, twenty-eight seconds."

"All right, so why are you…wait a second, since when do you have a watch? Out of the two of us, I'm the only person who wears any sort of timepiece; you haven't worn a watch since the day I met you. Where did that one come from?"

"Don't worry about it. You should go and check on Kopa, I think he's—

When Markos pointed across the room, Hermann grabbed him by the arm. "Let me see that. Why, you thieving rat, that's _my _watch! Did you take this off me when I was asleep?"

"Maybe?"

"And did you honestly expect that I wouldn't ever find out you had it?"

"I think I need to call a lawyer."

"_Give me that_; ugh, it's probably contaminated now. This watch is a family heirloom, do you realize that? Look, right there on the clasp, it says 'R. D. S.': Richard Dietrich Sterlitz, better known as my grandfather. Since when do you go about swiping antiques off of your colleagues?"

"Better than swiping mouthwash from the neighborhood drugstore."

"I told you a thousand times, _I forgot it was in my pocket!_ So what did you wake me up for? This had better me important."

"I'll leave that for you to decide." Markos pointed across to where Kopa was sleeping, moving his legs as if he were running and occasionally rolling from one side to the other.

"What's to decide?" Hermann asked. "It's Kopa, asleep, having a dream. By my own admission, I roll around like that all the time when I'm asleep."

"I've never seen you do that in your sleep. Then again, I haven't been stalking you at night."

"Relax, Markos. He's dreaming. Now clam up and go back to—

"_No…stop…no!"_

"Did you just say that?"

"Do I _ever _speak English to you?"

"No."

"Does my voice sound exactly like Kopa's?"

"That's a negative."

"Then why are you asking me such a ridiculous question?"

"_Don't…stop…"_

"Maybe the two of us should stop arguing and wake him up before it gets any worse?"

"Brilliant, Sterlitz."

"Well get a move on then," Hermann said. "You can get around easier than I can." Kopa was still tossing and turning. "It's doesn't look like anything that Executive Commandant M.W. Schreiber can't fix. Drag your duly-appointed tuchus out of bed, it won't kill you."

"Nor would it kill you," Markos groaned as he started to get out of his sleeping bag, but then stopped as fast as he had started. "On second thought," he said, "you do it. Remember when he came to after you spent all night working on him, and I was the first thing he saw? That scream could have touched off an earthquake."

"Perhaps so, but the nearest fault line's hundreds of miles away. I don't think we're in any immediate danger." Markos narrowed his eyes into a scornful expression. "Fine, I see your point. Where's the cane?"

"It's next to your bed."

Hermann rolled onto all fours, picked his cane up from the floor, and wearily hoisted himself to his feet. Still half-asleep, he lumbered over to the other side of the cave, knelt back down, and shook Kopa awake as gently as he could. Hermann could tell that whatever was going through Kopa's head, it was not of the pleasant variety.

"_Help! She's going to…_Hermann? You?"

"Yes, me. _Was ist?_"

"Zira! She's here! Where is she, you can't let her—

"She's dead, Kopa. _Ist tot, und nicht wieder zurückkomme._ Markos shot her, remember?"

"But I just saw her! Why would I see her if she wasn't here? You can't let her get me! Where's your gun? Where's Roberto?"

"Listen to me, there's no need for that. It was just a dream, and we don't need to go wake up Roberto. Zira's not here, I promise."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because if she were alive, I wouldn't be here talking to you. Thanks to Markos, however, I'm still breathing, and she's buzzard bait. Do you want to take a stroll outside? Sometimes it helps to walk around a bit and clear the mind; that's what I always did when I was young. The stars ought to be incredible tonight."

"No! _Geh nicht! _Don't leave me in here!" Kopa managed to wake up his parents with his plea to Hermann.

"Kopa, what's wrong?" Simba asked.

"_Alles unter Kontrol_," Hermann quickly said. "I've got it, don't worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Hermann replied, feeling a tap on his shoulder. "Markos, what now?"

"You're not going to get anywhere going on and on about 'clearing the mind'. So stop being a doctor and talk to him—

"But I _am _a doctor."

"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. We all know that."

"So then what am I supposed to sound like?"

If you let me finish, I'd tell you. Stop talking like a doctor, and talk to him as a friend. There, the oracle has spoken…good night!"

"That's it? You're going back to sleep now?" He didn't receive an answer; Kopa was still huddled up in a ball, nervously looking around and jumping at every noise he heard. _I guess this one really is all on me, _Hermann thought. "Kopa, _komm her zu mir, bitte_. Come over here."

Kopa slowly uncurled himself, looked first to his left and then to his right, and finally sprinted over to Hermann and dove headlong under the sheets. "I've seen cannonballs move slower than that," Hermann mused aloud as he got back into his bed, making sure he didn't squish the other occupant with his legs as he did so. "Can you come out of there for a moment?" he asked.

"You promise she's not here?" a muffled voice replied.

"I promise, you're completely safe. And furthermore, it's much better for you to breathe in fresh oxygen than the smell of my disgusting feet. They haven't been washed in days." Kopa carefully stuck his head out, the rest of him still glued to Hermann's side. "She's not here," Hermann found himself saying over and over again, partially for his own sake as well as Kopa's. After a minute or two, blessed reality finally began to sink back in.

"Calmed down a bit? You were wound tighter than a top for a moment there."

"Yeah, I'm OK. Thinking Zira was still alive, that she was about to get me…pretty dumb, huh?"

"No, not really. Pretty commonplace, if you ask me." Hermann stopped himself before he launched full-on into a discussion on the effects of PTSD; it was all he could do to keep the medical professional in him from taking over the controls. "In fact, I had a dream like yours as well, not too long ago. I was in the hospital when the bomb exploded. I saw Friedrich pick up the package…it was the worst dream I've ever had in my life. That was why I couldn't sleep for those few days after I found out about the bombing; it's why I kept taking walks outside."

"Really? I didn't think you got scared by those kinds of things."

"Not scared as much as…disturbed. Thrown out of equilibrium, if you will, if I wasn't already."

"Huh? Was that German or English?"

"I'm not sure myself."

Kopa turned over and looked up at the ceiling. "Do you have to leave in two days?" he asked. "Do you have to go back to Germany?"

"For a certain period of time, yes," Hermann answered. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And if you ever get scared at night again, just think of all the good times we've already had. That's certainly what I'll be doing if that hospital dream rears its ugly head. Try it…put all those other, bad images out of your mind, and think of something good." Kopa flipped all the way onto his back, still looking vacantly upward. "What are you thinking of?"

"I'm in Stuttgart, with you," Kopa said. "You and I are doing your rounds together."

"I see, so you're a doctor now?"

"Yeah, I have a white coat just like yours, and a gray jacket with three red bars, and—

"Three red bars? So not only are you a Stuttgart alumnus, you also graduated in top-notch standing. What's your professional specialty then? What field do you work in?"

"'Field'? What do you mean?"

"Most doctors specialize in specific area; Markos and I are general internists, for example, my friend Karl is a gastroenterologist, Ludwig and Amelia work in radiology—

"I do what you do. That's my specialty."

"Got it, so you're an internist like I am.

"Right, one of those…the best one in all of Germany!"

"The best in the country, are you?"

"Uh-huh, and I sing to everybody too, just like you did when I was hurt," Kopa added. "Just to make sure they don't get too scared." His eyes started to droop.

"So not only do your patients survive and return home happy and healthy, they also go out and buy the complete works of Mozart on CD and began studying to enter conservatory," Hermann said with a shared laugh between himself and Kopa. "But there's one question that's bugging me: how would you ever hold a chart?"

"You carry it for me," Kopa answered. "Or I hold it in my mouth if your hands are too full."

Hermann smiled again as a new vision of Kopa began to form in his mind: a lion cub who, as the evolving description became more refined, acquired a white lab coat complete with name lettering, a mahogany desk with business cards, a medical diploma on the wall in a brand new office, a secretary to take notes and receive phone calls. "I'm sure you'd be an excellent doctor," Hermann said. "You've got the heart for it in you, and that's ninety percent of the job. The other ten percent is just memorization and technicalities."

"It could happen." Kopa closed his eyes and nestled his head into the crook of Hermann's arm. "We'd be the best…two doctors…Germany's ever seen."


	33. Letzter Tag

AN: dihydrogen monoxide is the chemical name for water (H2O).

**DREIUNDDREI****β****IG**

_**Letzter Tag**_

"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours."

~Ludwig van Beethoven

An old enemy dead, a victim recovered, a peace restored. With Zira gone forever and Kopa back to his old self, the services of Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD and his colleague were no longer of urgent need. Both men were set to leave for Berlin early the next morning, long before Kopa and Vitani would be awake for the day. On the one hand, they were anxious to see their homes and families again, but on the other, Hermann couldn't shake the feeling that "home" didn't necessarily mean the city of Stuttgart any more. When he thought about how Kopa would feel after he left—alone, longing for somebody to talk to about soccer, music, or that far-off country known as Deutschland—it took almost all his strength to not crack up right then and there.

In saving Kopa from death and helping him get back on his feet, Hermann had done something which his late mentor had warned him against from the very beginning: he had taken a case personally, and bonded with a patient. "Never take anything too much to heart," Hermann could remember Friedrich Ross saying to him the first day of his residency. "As soon as you start blaming yourself for when things beyond your control go wrong and thinking of patients as friends and family, you go down a very dangerous road." And yet, for once, Hermann couldn't see the logic in this bit of advice. He knew quite well that there would always be certain things beyond any doctor's influence, and that even the best clinicians had and will always have patient deaths on their records, but as far as never considering a patient as a good friend, he could see no problem with this. All the days he had spent here, first saving Kopa's life and then helping him through a long and arduous recovery, he had considered Kopa a friend, and thought himself better off for doing so. _Maybe Herr Friedrich got it wrong_, he thought. He couldn't see how his German lessons, his surrendering his sleeping bag and using his gift of song could have taken place between two strangers, nor could it have been indicative of that "dangerous road" he was warned about. There was, however, one thing Hermann could not deny in the least: when strangers part ways, neither gives the parting a second thought. Farewells between two good friends, however—even those farewells of the temporary sort—are never easy.

Kopa was trying his best to keep Hermann from packing his things up that day. "You can't go," he kept saying with tears in his eyes as he pulled already-packed items out of Hermann's suitcase, "not now. Why do you have to go?"

"I wish I could stay, but right now, I have to go back," Hermann replied. "For the time being, they'll need me in Stuttgart."

"Can't I come with you then? I speak enough German…why couldn't I stay at your apartment? How small can it be?"

"It's practically a prison cell. But even if I had a mansion, I just don't think it would be feasible to do. You and I, we belong in different places; you'd get bored in Stuttgart in record time, and what's more, you'd miss your family."

"But you're my family too! I was standing right there; my dad said that you're a part of the pride!" Hermann had forgotten that minor detail. "You can't go now, it isn't fair…you only just got here." Kopa hid his face in his paws and sobbed. Hermann walked over next to him and sat down, figuring that if nothing else, it would do some good to give the bad leg a brief rest.

"Kopa, listen to me. I know neither of us wants this to happen, but it's not permanent. I promise I will be back, as soon as I can figure it out. Maybe they're looking for a clinician around here, and if so, I'll be the first to sign up for the job. If not, I'll buy airline tickets; I'll take a train, a bus…whatever it takes. But I will come back, no matter what. And Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz doesn't break his promises." Kopa nodded his head and sniffed as Hermann fished his old songbook out of his suitcase. "Remember this?"

"Sure, I remember; we used it yesterday. It's your songbook."

"It _was _mine. Now it's yours."

"You're really giving this to me? But you said you've had that book for almost fifteen years! It's got all your notes in it."

"All the better for you to learn from, then."

"But what if I don't understand everything you wrote? Like here, what's that word?"

"That says '_Nach und nach, langsamer und langsamer'. __'_Gradually slowing down'. It wasn't in the original manuscript, but I penciled it in. And come to think of it, there's something else that I should write in as well. In pen. Can I borrow that book back for just a second?" Hermann removed a black ballpoint pen from his back pocket and double-checked the date on his watch. On the book's front cover, just under the slightly faded title words _Schumann und Schubert: Ausgewählte Lieder_, Hermann wrote in some words of his own:

_25 August_

_Für mein Freund Kopa, mit Lieb und Seele. _

_~H_

"There, it's officially yours," Hermann said. "Use it well and learn lots; hopefully all my scribbling will prove helpful, but you'll have to figure out my handwriting first. As the pharmacy people who fill my patients' prescriptions will tell you, my penmanship could use improvement."

"I'll figure it out," Kopa said, excited about his present but still rather gloomy. "I guess I should let you go back to packing…"

"Actually, the packing can wait. Why don't the two of us go do something together? Anything you want."

"Really?" Kopa's expression immediately brightened. "Can we go swim? Just one more time?"

"I don't see why not; stay here for a moment, and I'll go tell Markos where we're going. Is he still outside?"

"Uh-huh. He's watching Lied while Adila's out hunting."

"I hope the poor kid hasn't been irreversibly corrupted yet." Hermann suddenly thought of something. "Hey, wait a minute, who's going to be watching out for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you forgotten who else lives in that pond?"

"Have _you _forgotten whose side he's on? Come on, find Markos, and then let's go!"

Hermann had assumed that this latest venture into the water would be another surprise encounter with the pond's principal occupant, but he was at least slightly relieved when he and Kopa arrived at the bank, and saw immediately that at least the element of surprise wouldn't be in play. Kopa, of course, had been totally unconcerned from the beginning, while Hermann, true to form, was ever-cautious. He still hadn't forgotten Simba's story about Zira getting her ear turned into Swiss cheese, as remote as the possibility was of the same thing happening to him.

"Well, look who's here," Hermann said. "The unsung hero of the battle for Pride Rock. He must be sunning himself. _Roberto, wake up, it's us,_" he shouted out in his best Spanish.

Roberto blinked his eyes open and immediately slipped into the water. It wasn't the result Hermann had been hoping for; the only thing in Africa that he feared more than a crocodile out of the water was a crocodile under the water and invisible. Like so many times before, his concerns proved unwarranted when a leathery nose calmly broke the surface, followed by two eyes and a broad, scaly back, the last of which Kopa quickly decided to use as a landing platform.

"Kids," Hermann said. "There's no stopping them, is there?"

"I suppose not. Then again, I never have any of my own," Roberto admitted. "And Kopa, look at you, all healed up! Your parents, they must be so proud of you, as am I…"

"Hey, how can you see me?" Kopa asked. "I'm standing on your back!"

"Eyes on the top of the head, _hijo mío_. They're not just good for hunting. Are you here to swim?"

"Yes, we are," Hermann said. "Could we borrow your pond for a few minutes?

"Yeah, can we?" Kopa added. "Please?"

"_Claro que sí, _of course. My pond is your pond. Enjoy yourself." Roberto slowly sunk back under the water, leaving Kopa paddling on the surface and Hermann watching intently for air bubbles.

"Come on in!" Kopa shouted, swimming around in little circles. "What're you waiting for?"

_I hate it when he does that, _Hermann thought, _hiding underwater so I can't see him. _Resignedly he removed his shoes, socks, shirt and trousers and slowly stepped in, feeling around with his feet to avoid the possibility of treading on a crocodile tail. He did a few slow stokes forward, and then turned over and started floating. Kopa had never seen anyone, except for Roberto, float like this before.

"How do you do that? You're staying on top of the water, like a leaf!"

"It's simple; just flip onto your back and take in a deep breath, and the laws of physics will do the rest. You'll float without even trying."

Kopa tried to follow Hermann's instructions, but he didn't realize—and Hermann had forgotten to specify—that the ability to float lasted only as long as the floater held his breath in. As soon as he turned over, Kopa let all of his air out, and promptly sank like a stone. He resurfaced a second or two later, sputtering and giving Hermann evil eyes; Hermann quickly grabbed him up in his arms, just to avoid another unexpected demonstration of negative buoyancy. "You OK?" he asked. "You dropped like the _Titanic _there."

"You said I would float!" Kopa retorted, still spitting out water. "Why didn't it work? Was that one of your jokes?"

"No tricks," Hermann said, "you just have to hold your breath, or you sink."

"And you didn't tell me this _why_?"

Hermann admitted he didn't have a good answer. And he was punished accordingly, courtesy of Kopa, with a well aimed tsunami to the face.

"Oh, no, tell me you just didn't do that. I would _not _want to be you right now," Hermann smirked.

"Why not?" Kopa answered cockily.

"For starters? This," Hermann replied before sending his own wall of water in the opposite direction. Then a new wave came his way, followed by one towards Kopa, then another, and yet another until Roberto, watching from the other bank, wondered if any water would be left in his pond at the end of the day. He could hear Hermann and Kopa shouting at each other as they splashed:

"Yeah! Taste it! _Ich bin der allebest!_"

"Hah! You missed! Come and get me, Doctor House!"

"_Don't call me that! _Eat dihydrogen monoxide!_"_

"Nyah, nyah, missed again!"

Before long, both had completely exhausted their strength from making tidal waves, and they could do nothing but stand still and catch their breath, pausing occasionally to wipe any stray water droplets off their faces. Hermann in particular was feeling the effects, not used to physical activity much greater than the effort needed to walk and support himself.

"Well, that was different," Hermann said, resting his hands on his knees and realizing how un-like his normal, serious self he had just been. "You started it, of course…"

"Did not!"

"Did so."

"_Nein!"_

"_Ja!"_

"Want a drink?" Kopa said with a gleam in his eye.

"Huh? OK, sure, I suppose I could do with one." He didn't even have time to think his words over before being subjected to another rinse and spin cycle. "I think you and Markos have more in common than I originally thought," Hermann said. "All this time I thought he and Vitani were kindred spirits, but you're just as bad as the both of them!"

"Not quite," Kopa said. "There's one thing he'll never have on me."

"What's that?"

"Markos can't sing without sounding like he's trying for first prize in a hawk calling contest."

"Touché."

_Later on_

"Roberto?"

"Yes?"

"I never said this before; I don't think I got a chance. Thank you…for everything. I don't know how we could have pulled off that victory without your help."

"Please, don't thank me; I haven't had that much fun in years! Seeing Zira's face when she saw me again, it was priceless!"

"Well then I'm pleased that you enjoyed yourself. And I'm sorry I've always been so jumpy around you; it's hard to understand, I'm sure, but—

"You're a human, I'm a crocodile. It happens."

"So there's no hard feelings then?"

"No, none. _Nada_. By any chance do you happen to watch Spanish football?"

"Uh…yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"Do me a favor. The next time you are here, let me know how Real Madrid is doing."

"It's the least I can do. Goodbye, Roberto, and take care of yourself."

"_Hasta luego, señor Hermann. Nos veremos._"

Hermann gave a friendly nod of the head and walked away. With this last item of unfinished business taken care of, he and Kopa were sprawled out side by side on the grass in short order, looking up at the bright blue sky as the sun and wind slowly dried away the water.

"What do you think is up there?" Kopa said, gazing at a flock of birds flying by.

"At the moment, those birds, an airplane here and there…"

"No, I meant past all those.

"Water molecules?"

"What about the white lights?"

"White lights? You mean stars, _die Sterne. _You know that word by know."

"That's just what _you _call them."

"And you don't?"

"Well, Dad doesn't. He says that whenever one of us dies, that's where we go, forever and ever, and we turn into one of those little white dots in the sky. He says that all our past rulers are up there, from as long as this pride has been here."

"But those are just stars," Hermann said. "They're gigantic balls of searing hot gas, burning so brightly that the light still reaches us from hundreds of millions of kilometers away. You'd see if you got close to one that they're enormous in size; they only look small because they're so far away. But," he hurriedly added, seeing that he had just done the equivalent of telling a little kid that Santa Claus doesn't exist, "that doesn't mean your parents are wrong. Having stars in the sky doesn't mean there's nothing else there with them."

"I don't know; I've never told this to dad, but I think it all sounds kind of weird." Kopa could tell that Hermann felt exactly the same way; Hermann was just relieved that he hadn't stepped too far over the line. "Still, it would be nice if it were true, don't you think?"

On this matter, Hermann and Kopa saw exactly eye to eye. "Indeed it would be, _mein Sohn,_" Hermann said. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath, making silent note of all the different scents in the fresh air—grass, earth, flowers—as if he were tasting a fine wine. _By God, I love this place_, he thought. _I've been so blind, all this time thinking there was no greater spot to be than Germany…but there is; there has been all along. And it's right here where I'm—_

"Hermann? Where do cubs come from?" The tranquil silence was suddenly broken.

"What makes you want to know that?"

"Just curious. You're a doctor, so I thought you'd know. You _do _know, right?"

"Of course I know," Hermann said, desperately racking his brain for a plausible explanation that wasn't rated-X. "Are you sure you want to talk about this? There are so many other interesting things to talk about…" He knew that there would be no persuading Kopa otherwise, but he needed the extra time to stall.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Kopa answered as expected. "Come on, tell me…what's the big deal?"

"OK, I'll tell you. Cubs come from, uh, the biological result of cellular division originating from a fertilized ovum."

"So mom and dad and Vitani and Wolfie and I are 'biological results of cellular division'?" It took Kopa a long time to get all the syllables out intact.

"Yes, that's the long and short of it." To Hermann's dismay, and despite his best hopes that the dialog would quickly steer itself elsewhere, Kopa still wasn't satisfied.

"But how do you make the whole thing start? What do you do?"

_Isn't this something you should be taking up with your parents instead of with me? _Hermann thought, before giving an answer that would have caused the powers that be at Universität Stuttgart to consider revoking his medical diploma: "You sing the G flat major scale in descending thirds while facing Mecca and standing on your head."

"Really? 'Cause that's…not what Vitani told me. Hermann? Are you listening?"

"Busted."


	34. Auf Wiedersehn, leb' wohl

**VIERUNDDREIβIG**

_**Auf Wiedersehn, leb' wohl**_

"Hermann?"

"_Ja?_"

"What was Friedrich like?"

"What was he like? He was a good man, one of the best I've known in all my life, and he taught me just about everything I know. What I don't know is how he managed to do everything that he did, being the Chief of Medicine and all. When you're the Chief, _der Chefarzt_, of a major hospital in Baden-Würtemburg, everything and then some is on your shoulders."

"What does that word mean? I haven't heard you use it before…is that because it's bad?"

"Which word, '_Chefarzt'_? No, it's not a bad word at all; it just means 'Chief of Medicine'. And it's a good bit easier to say, as well. Who knows, maybe I'll have that word in front of my own name some day."

"Was it fun to learn from him? Did he ever get mad at you? Sometimes my mom and dad get mad at me when I don't act like I'm supposed to."

"Yes, it was fun. Being his student was a privilege the likes of which one only gets once in a lifetime. And he could get cross, but he had to be that way. If you make a mistake, that's probably the end of it. If I or any of the other doctors screw up, on the other hand, people wind up in early graves, and that doesn't look good on our record. But it wasn't so much that Friedrich was mad at anyone; he just knew that we were all capable of better work, and didn't want us to settle for anything less."

"Is that why you respect him so much? Because he was a good teacher?"

"That's part of it, but not all of it. Friedrich Ross could teach with the best of them, but at the same time, he also knew how to do something just as important, something which very few other instructors can lay claim to."

"What was that?"

Hermann's eyes went a bit cloudy. "He knew how to be a good friend. Just like someone else I know." It wasn't any mystery to Kopa who this 'someone' was. "There was only one thing he couldn't do that I was aware of," Hermann added. "He couldn't play the piano to save his life. When he sat down at that keyboard, everyone else ran and hid; it sounded like a vulture getting strangled while being dragged over a belt sander."

"Sort of like you when Adila broke your finger?"

"Yes, exactly like…_hey! _I did _not _sound like that at all!"

"_Sure _you didn't."

Hermann saw he wasn't going to win this round. He turned over to get up, but wound up rolling straight onto the revolver under his belt. He had forgotten, of course, that he had taken it with him and that he no longer needed to go about armed in the first place. "Stupid thing," he said. "Old habit, I suppose…you know what they say about those."

Kopa gave him a blank stare.

"You don't know? The expression is 'old habits die hard'." It was the second time, much to Hermann's satisfaction, that he discovered an idiom in English known only to him. "I can't believe I actually brought this with me today," he remarked, turning the shiny silver pistol over a few times in his hand. "With Zira gone, it's all but useless now."

"Useless? Vitani told me you shot a hyena dead with it," Kopa said. "I bet you can't do it again."

"Who would I be to take that bet?" Hermann countered. "There are no hyenas here to begin with!"

"OK then…see that gourd hanging from the tree? Shoot that instead. If you miss, you have to cook dinner and recite a poem for me before I go to sleep. One that I haven't heard yet…and it can't be Heine, either. You always pick him."

"And what's your punishment going to be, Kopa the Confident? What happens if I make the shot?"

"Don't know…I'll think of something, though! Promise!"

_Good enough_, Hermann thought as he lined up his shot, slowly closing his left eye as he brought the gourd into his sights. He knew he had made harder shots in the past, and had every intention of placing a bullet dead in the middle of his target. And then suddenly, it dawned on him that there would be no better way to spend his last night with Kopa than to carry out exactly what had been outlined in his forfeit. He discreetly aimed to the left, fired, and watched for the result. As expected, nothing happened except for the noise of the shot.

"Oh dear, it seems I've missed." Kopa looked ecstatic, knowing what now awaited him in the evening. "Can I have another shot, just for posterity?"

"Sure," Kopa said, "but that last one was the only shot that counted."

"Just as I hoped." Without further warning, Hermann raised the pistol again, fired, and blew the gourd out of the tree all in the span of a second, not even bothering to steady his aim with his left hand. "A word of advice, Kopa," he said as both turned and headed for home. "Don't ever take bets unless you're absolutely sure you can win. Others might not be as accommodating as I am."

_That evening, 1830 hrs._

Out of the corner of his eye, Kopa caught Markos building the framework of a campfire. "You can put the wood down, Markos. Hermann's cooking tonight."

"Hermann? Cooking? But Hermann cannot cook."

"I heard that, you idiot," Hermann shouted as he came around the corner, carrying more wood. "And I'll have you know, I cook just fine."

"What's your definition of 'fine'?" Markos replied, switching into his native language. "Your dinner guests don't need a prescription to go with their meal?"

"You've never complained about my food in the past."

"Yes, because every time I've had it, I was so drunk that a steaming heap of road kill would have looked appetizing."

"That can be arranged," Hermann said, pointing to where a flock of vultures had gathered in the distance to feed on something that had long since given up the ghost. "What do you think this is, anyway…fine dining? We're off the map in the African bush; Kopa's not going to bring you a pan-roasted filet of cod with balsamic glaze and a shot glass of cognac."

"I would hope not. You drink white wine with fish, not cognac."

"Huh?

"I said, white wine is what you would normally drink with fish. Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay, Riesling…you know, the slightly off-white stuff that comes in a tall glass bottle?"

"Have you been reading _Wine for Idiots_ again?"

"No, my father collects it. Couldn't help but pick up a few bits of trivia before I left the house, if for no other reason than to annoy you with them."

"Fine then, you get a point for knowing a useless factoid. How about _finding _us some wine instead of just babbling on about it?"

"Sure thing; I'll file that right in with your requests for the Laundromat and the nine-hole golf course. And, by the way, cognac is served in a snifter. Not a shot glass." Markos jogged off to retrieve the portions of meat he had prepared earlier that day, leaving Hermann and Kopa alone.

"It's so quiet…so beautiful," Hermann said, taking a long, wistful look around.

"It's only quiet because Markos is inside, and Vitani's taking a nap," Kopa replied matter-of-factly.

"I meant it more in an all-encompassing sense…but you've got a point. Things are never too peaceful when those two are about. But I wouldn't ever change it for all the money in the world, would you?"

"Nope. No way."

"I'm really going to miss this, _mein Freund._ Chaotic cubs and all."

"But what about Stuttgart? Don't you miss being there, too?"

"Yes, of course. My parents and friends live there, after all; it's my home, and it always will be. But there's no law that says 'home' can't be more than one place. And luckily for Markos and me, we managed to bring a bit of old Deutschland along with us." Hermann gestured to the top of Pride Rock. "Now whenever we come back, we'll never be too far from Germany. And neither will you."

"But I'm not German."

"Nobody's perfect."

When Markos came back with approximately twenty-five portions balanced precariously between his arms, Hermann's instincts told him that his duties as executive chef were no longer limited to two-legged customers. Hermann had originally planned on preparing the evening meal for only himself and his colleague—after all, the others didn't have to cook their food in order to eat it—but it now seemed that events were destined to take an unexpected turn towards a full-scale barbeque.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hermann said aghast, "you actually think we're going to cook all that?"

"No, I think _you're _going to cook all that. _I'm_ going to sit back and watch."

"You're insane! We're the only two here who can't eat that stuff raw, so why can't everyone else have theirs—

"Because ever since we started grilling meat, it caught on with the others like free beer at Oktoberfest. Ask Kopa if you don't believe me."

"Fine. Kopa, how do you want yours, plain or—

"Cook it!" Kopa said before Hermann could finish. It wasn't what the chef-elect wanted to hear, but as he _had _lost a fair bet—and entirely of his own volition at that—he didn't have the slightest makings of a leg to stand on.

"Guess you shouldn't have lost that little wager, eh?" Markos chided, loving every minute of Hermann's misery. "You know what I always say, 'Don't ever take a bet unless you're absolutely sure of the consequences'."

"That's funny," Hermann said without turning around to face the addressee, "I have a saying like that as well: 'It's always wise to shut your big mouth before my foot winds up in it'. Get the picture?" Hermann thumped his walking stick into the ground a few times, just to drive home the point.

"Vitani, come quick!" Kopa shouted excitedly. "Cane fight!" Unfortunately for Vitani, though, the promised altercation never materialized past the point of harmless bickering, and she, along with Kopa, was thus left rather disappointed. Around the fire, the rest of the pride was slowly filing in as dinner neared completion and the smell of roasting meat began to waft through the air. Several of the lions, adults as well as cubs, were watching with great interest as Hermann carefully flipped over each steak every few minutes, occasionally tapping the heel of his hand with his right index finger before doing the same to the food.

"What are you doing that for?" Vitani asked. "Does that make it cook?"

"Not quite," Hermann said. "It tells me if the meat is done or not. When it's about as soft as that part of my hand, then it's done. Unfortunately, though, we've only got water to drink," he mused out loud. "All of Markos's wine talk has got me thirsty again, and not for plain old H2O either."

"Actually," Simba said, "we've got something for you. A little good-bye present, as it were; mind you, we don't know exactly what it is, but you of all people can probably tell us." Simba walked into the cave and came back out a moment or two later, carefully carrying something in his mouth. Hermann could tell that it was a bottle of some sort.

"It's wine," Hermann said to Markos, "or at least, a wine bottle. Do you recognize it?"

Markos took the bottle from Simba and looked at the label, gasped, and looked at it again. "Hermann, this is…"

"It's a bottle of wine, from God-only-knows-where."

"It's not just a bottle of wine, it's a Chateau Lafite! Is the cork still all the way down the bottle neck?"

"Yes, and the foil's intact. It hasn't been opened."

"Then my friend, you've quite literally got a thousand Euros in your hands. What I want to know is, what the heck's a vintage Bordeaux doing out here?"

"So do I…Simba, where did you ever get this?"

"Some time ago," Simba explained, "we had a group of people camping about an hour's walk away. I'm not sure where they were from or what they were doing, but they seemed to have lots of nice things, and they always walked around in these strange white coats."

"They must have been researchers of some kind…rich, well-funded ones, from the sounds of it! And the white coats were just lab wear, nothing too strange about it; I've even got one myself. But how did you know they were here if they were camping a full hour away?"

"We could smell what they were eating for dinner. Whatever it was, it was good, and there was lots of it! They never saw me, of course, but I saw them, and every time I came to see what they were up to, they were eating and drinking and having a good time. When they finally left after a month or so, this was just lying on the ground where the campsite was. They must have forgotten it; maybe it fell out of a suitcase without them knowing."

"Ask him if it's been kept inside out of the sun," Markos said, already licking his lips in anticipation.

"Have you kept it inside and cool since you found it?" Hermann asked.

"Yes, I just put it in a corner, near where I sleep at night. It hasn't moved since."

"Markos, it's cherry," Hermann said.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Markos immediately replied. "Open it!"

Using his pocketknife, Hermann cut the foil away and managed to wrest the cork from the bottle as the last of the steaks finished cooking. Markos ran inside and retrieved the pair of glasses, and soon the whole pride was seated around the fire enjoying the fruits of their honored guest's labor.

"Are you going to taste that sometime this year?" Hermann scolded, watching Markos swirling the wine around in his glass as Kopa tore into a piece of meat. "You're supposed to drink the wine, not play with it."

"Of course I am, but with a bottle this good, you have to smell the wine, embrace the wine…_be_ the wine…"

"Nerd."

"Neophyte."

"What exactly is this 'wine' stuff?" Simba asked Hermann.

"It's what Kopa does whenever I beat him at tag," Vitani interrupted.

"I do not!" Kopa shot back.

"Do so!"

"Do not!"

"Kopa, Vitani, _ruhig, bitte!_" Hermann pleaded. "I was _going _to say that wine, w-i-n-e, without the 'h', is a drink made out of grapes."

"There's no danger of you getting stuck up a tree in an hour, is there?" Simba asked, knowing that most things classified by Hermann or Markos as 'drinks' were apt to carry along some interesting side effects.

"No, hardly," Hermann said. "It's rather low in alcohol, and besides, that whole tree business is Markos's area of expertise."

"What's it smell like?"

"Let's see…there's a definite earth tone underpinning and a bit of red fruit, maybe a touch of oak here and there as well. What you do think?"

Simba took a quick sniff and wrinkled his nose. "Rotten grapes."

_Fine, all the more for me_, Hermann thought has he poured himself another glass. "So, what's the consensus?" he said. "Does my grilling measure up?"

"Do you hear anyone talking?" Simba asked.

"No."

"Then I'd say the consensus is positive."

It took everyone a long time to finish everything that Hermann had cooked—perhaps one hour, perhaps two, but nobody was interested in counting. Together, Hermann and Markos managed to polish off the Chateau Lafite with no ill effects, while many of their dinner guests wondered silently how on Earth either of them could drink something that smelled to them, for all intents and purposes, like fruit that had been left to rot. Hermann thought for a moment about explaining the basics of viticulture, if for no other reason than to pseudo-justify his choice of beverage that evening, but he soon realized after finishing his last bite of meat that the darkness of night had descended, and that he, along with most of the others, was incredibly full and incredibly tired. Still, he and Markos had enough energy for one last round of farewells.

"Come back soon, OK?" Nala said, standing next to her mate and looking sorrowful as Markos put the last of his clothes into a suitcase. "Have a good trip back to Germany; we'll keep the concert hall and the bed set up for you. Kopa will just have to share for as many nights as you decide to stay."

"_Vielen Dank_. I promise, I'll come back as soon as things settle themselves a bit at work. We're going to have a long road in front of us, now that Friedrich's gone. They'll probably want me to recite _kaddish_ at his funeral."

"You'll do fine," Simba reassured him. "Just remember, as long as you keep your teacher close to your heart, he's not really gone."

"Again, thank you…I won't ever forget that. And Adila, take care of yourself, and don't let Vitani and Wolfgang teach Lied too many ways of making mischief."

"I will," Adila said. "Sorry about breaking your finger, by the way."

"No worries. It's mostly healed anyway."

"Good, I'm glad. Say goodbye to Hermann, Lied." Hermann gave a small wave, but Lied immediately tried to hide himself under his mother's front leg. "Kids," Adila laughed, "human or lion, they must be all the same: shy as can be at first, and then suddenly you can't buy a second's worth of silence."

"I know. I have a coworker who's rather like that."

Hermann had many more words that night, with just about every lion and cub in the pride. Every sentence was a fight to keep his composure, even though he had promised everybody that he would be back as soon as he could manage the trip. The accolades and commendations given to him would stick in his head for a long time thereafter, but out of all the speeches, thanks and displays of gratitude, the words he would remember best numbered only four in total. They came as the very last thing he heard before falling asleep, shortly after he had crawled on one leg into his sleeping bag (which, to no-one's surprise, was already partially occupied), recited one last poem, and clicked off his flashlight as Kopa nestled in next to him:

"_Ich liebe dich, Hermann."_


	35. Es war ein Traum

AN: this is not the end! And of course, I don't own anything that isn't already owned by Disney.

AN II: Nor do I own anything already owned by Warsteiner, Lufthansa Airlines, the University of Stuttgart, the Stuttgart Football Club, the Boeing Company, Remington Firearms, Chateau Lafite-Rothschild, and/or G. Schirmer Music Publishing.

**FÜNFUNDDREIβIG**

_**Es war ein Traum**_

_Where am I? _Hermann didn't know. He was standing by himself, surrounded on each side by two lines of people. He reached up to scratch his head, and felt that he had his graduation cap on, the black mortar board he had worn the day he received his diploma. Then he looked down at the rest of himself, and sure enough, there was an academic robe, under which was his gray coat complete with university insignia; his gray trousers, shined black shoes…commencement attire down to a tee. For a moment, Hermann thought he was re-living his graduation, but if his surroundings told him anything at all, they proved quite clearly that he was not on the grounds of his university, or even anywhere near it. In front of him was a large, wide stone building decorated with Corinthian columns, the words _Dem deutscher Volke _across the front of the overhang. A staircase, flanked by low stone walls, sloped gently upward to the base of the columns, in front which stood three tall flagpoles. And then, all in an instant and entirely on its own, Hermann's mind pieced his location together:

_Berlin. _

He was outside the Bundestag, a building he recognized from seeing it in pictures hundreds of times, but never actually in person. And he recognized the flagpole trio standing in front of it: on the left pole, just as in the newspapers and schoolbooks, was the navy blue flag of the European Union, while the right hand pole sported the familiar flag of Germany. The standard flying between these two banners, however, was of a design that Hermann had never seen. It contained the same colors as the flag of Germany—black, red, and yellow—but the colored stripes were not horizontal, nor were they oriented vertically. Hermann didn't need to consciously eliminate Germany and Belgium as possibilities, as a line of white text, _Königreich Priderländer_, across the flag's lower half had already done that for him.

Now he was just as confused as he had been before. What was really going on here? Why were all these people standing and staring at him? Why was he in Berlin, and dressed in such a strange way? Where had that Pride Lands flag come from...who had designed it? What was it doing here, and why were the words on it written in German, the language of a country an entire continent away from Pride Rock? If someone had come out of the crowd at that very moment and announced himself a crewmember for _Candid Camera_, everything might have made a modicum of sense, but no such person was to be found.

He took a step forward and noticed something else: no cane, and no limp, no halting or hanging up in his stride. Wondering if his mind was simply playing tricks on him, he took another step, and then another, and finally put all his weight onto his right foot. Hermann waited, expecting something that never came; the all-too-familiar feeling of pain and discomfort that was almost always present couldn't be bothered to make an appearance. As he was contemplating why his leg felt so inexplicably sound, a small group emerged from the entrance of the Bundestag and walked down the flight of stairs. They were some distance away, but Hermann could still see who they were: on the far left was Friedrich Ross, who stood beside the mayor of Stuttgart. The man on the far right was Leonard Friedlander, a veteran physician Hermann recognized from the hospital's board; to his right was the commander of the armed forces, and in the exact middle was a well-dressed, official-looking lady…the Chancellor herself. "Doctor Hermann Sterlitz, please come forward," she said into a microphone.

Hermann, dumbstruck, did as was asked of him. He moved slowly at first, but as he began to realize that his leg was giving him no trouble whatsoever, he gradually quickened to a brisk walk, and then almost to a jog (which looked rather impressive in full scholastic dress). The long lines of onlookers to his left and right remained completely silent. Hermann still didn't know what to say, or what to think. He knew where he was, but he didn't know why, nor could he make heads or tails of why Friedrich, now dead almost three weeks from a letter bomb blast, was standing in front of him and looking very much alive. Naturally, the first words Hermann spoke when he arrived at the top of the steps were those of a question:

"May I have a brief word with my professor, Madam Chancellor?"

"Of course," the lady replied. "As many words as you please." Hermann nodded gratefully and sidestepped a few paces to the left. Friedrich was still looking at him, waiting for his ever-trustful student to say something.

"Are you…a ghost?" Hermann asked.

"A ghost? Me?" Friedrich said. "Of course not! There's no such thing as ghosts."

"So what are you, then? You're the only one here who isn't, well…alive."

"I'm a memory. A recollection: myself, exactly as you remember me. This is a dream, as I suspect you've realized by now; a dream where of all your most fervent desires have been realized."

"A parallel reality? Like the kind in the movies?"

"Sort of, but not quite. This time, you're in a world where you control everything that happens. But there's a catch, you see; your surface impulses and wants aren't what are driving the machine."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Perhaps it would be better to just show you. Right now, wish with all your might for a big stack of cash."

"OK, if you insist." Hermann closed his eyes and thought of a giant vault full to the brim with hundred-Euro notes, but nothing materialized. "Herr Friedrich, how is this relevant?" he said, trying with all his might to not sound completely clueless in front of all the people gathered around him.

"It's relevant because I don't see any money appearing, do you?"

"No, I think that fact has already been well established."

"Exactly. There's no money falling from the sky because that kind of desire is entirely temporal, of the conscious mind and not the subconscious mind. Only those things which you long for more than anything else—the desires of the heart—are able to make things happen here. Look around, what do you see? Start with your robe."

"It looks pretty normal to…wait, this isn't my graduation robe; it's a professor's gown! I'm a professor?"

"Yes, you are. But not in the subject you're thinking of. The last time I checked, a pink mantle and sleeves doesn't indicate a medical degree."

Hermann looked down and saw that the colors of his robe were exactly as Friedrich had described them. "I'm…a professor of music?"

"Yes, you are."

"Then why did the Chancellor just refer to me as 'Doctor'?"

"Why, that's how you address a professor."

"Yes, you're right on that; I suppose I wasn't thinking it through. So everything here is a product of my heart, of my subconscious mind…is that what you're saying?" Hermann asked slowly.

"That's the long and short of it, yes," his teacher answered.

"Including the recognition ceremony? Who abracadabra-ed this thing?"

"You, of course. Yes, I know what you're thinking, 'I've already been honored once, I don't need another go-round at the same thing,' et cetera. And you're completely right; there's no _need _for any of this at all. But needing something and deserving something are different matters entirely. We're all here—not just me, but this whole crowd of people—because you know, deep down inside, that you deserve all of this and more, even if you're too humble to admit it."

"But how do _you_ know about what happened? Were you…watching me?"

"You're rather forgetful today, aren't you? Don't you remember our little nighttime dialog, right before Simba took you out to see the canyon? But yes, to answer your question, I was watching the whole time, from the moment you met Kopa and became his walking, talking _raison d'être_. I heard your nighttime Schubert serenades and the stories about your family; I even witnessed a rather entertaining episode one afternoon involving you, Markos, and a handful of sleeping pills."

"You saw that? Oh man…"

"Yes, and I had a good laugh over it, I'll admit. And I saw how the two of you put your own lives in danger the night Pride Rock underwent a nighttime stint as Fort Rudelfelsen—I have to hand it to your colleague, he came up with a catchy name—when you were both willing to sacrifice yourselves so that what happened to Kopa might never happen again. But if you must know, it was these last few days, those that came _after _your long string of heroic accomplishments, which made me the happiest."

"Why? Nothing really happened then, apart from a Schumann recital and a spur-of-the-moment wine tasting."

"No, something definitely happened, even if you didn't notice it: you finally let that notorious guard of yours drop just a bit. You let yourself smile and laugh more; you found enjoyment in the simple things in life. I'm not saying you weren't happy before, but you were even happier then."

Friedrich paused for a second or two, and then changed the subject: "I take it you can figure out why I've shown up, now that you understand how everything works here?"

"Yes," Hermann said solemnly, "that's no mystery. I want—

"You wish I weren't gone. You lost a good friend in addition to a teacher, you're not sure what you're going to do at work from now on…am I somewhere in the ballpark?"

"Not just in the ballpark; that was a home run all the way into the cheap seats."

"We cannot raise the dead, Hermann Wolfgang. As you already said once, to Nala I believe, 'If I could do that, I'd be out of a job'."

"I know, I know; I just wanted one last chance to say goodbye. That's all I _ever_ wanted: not a second more than it would have taken to say the words '_Lebe wohl'_…but I never got it."

"Correction, my boy: you never got it _until now_," Friedrich said with a smile. "Why do you think I'm here? Just wanting to see me again for the sake of seeing me again…that wouldn't have been enough to bring me to you, even in this world."

"I, I don't know what to say," Hermann stammered, caught off guard and desperately scrambling for words, hoping like mad that he would have more than a few seconds before the opportunity was lost for good. But this concern had not gone unknown by the man standing in front of him.

"Don't worry, I promise there's more than enough time for the two of us yet," Friedrich reassured, much to Herman's relief. "For now, though, let's not keep the Chancellor waiting any longer than she has to." Hermann nodded his head, recomposed himself, and walked back to the center of the steps; the Chancellor signaled for the man at the end of the line opposite Friedrich's to start reading from a piece of parchment manuscript.

"_In most esteemed respect for his services abroad…"_ The paper was then passed to the left. Another person read:

"_In gratitude for his dedication to the medical profession…" _Again the paper was handed off to another reader, four more times in total.

"_In appreciation of his willingness to place himself in harm's way, even when circumstances did not dictate that such actions were of necessity…"_

"_In as much admiration of his humanity and humility as of his formidable abilities in the arts of healing and music…"_

"_And in thanks for all that which has gone unmentioned here…"_

The paper made its way back to the Chancellor, who spoke the final lines: "_Be it now resolved and known this twentieth day of August that the Bundestag of the Federal Republic of Germany hereby grants this official decree of recognition to Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD, of the city of Stuttgart, Baden-Württemberg_." She held the paper out to Hermann, who took it and examined the citation for himself. He saw that in the upper left corner of the page, the words _Bundesrepublik Deutschland_ had been written in ornamented letters over the Chancellor's signature, and that in the right corner were the same words as on the flag behind him: _Königreich Priderländer. _Underneath, there was a second line of text in place of a signature:

_Einigkeit—Recht—Freundschaft_

"Those words are there because of you, Doctor Sterlitz," the Chancellor said as the honoree eyed the parchment. "'Unity, justice, friendship'…your doing. Your country is very proud of you."

"I'm honored, ma'am," Hermann said humbly. As the crowd behind him exploded into cheers and a chamber orchestra—Hermann couldn't figure out where it was—took up the national anthem, he said one final word of thanks, and then returned to face his teacher. "Whenever you're ready," Freidrich said, extending his hand.

Ever the self-conscious stoic, Hermann had every plan of shaking Friedrich's hand in return with little added fanfare, but his mind had other ideas in store. _Oh, to hell with it, _he quickly thought before pulling his arm back and opting instead for a full-on embrace that only drew more applause from the audience. The orchestra played the closing measures of the anthem, and for the first time since either could remember, both men addressed each other by first name only.

"Goodbye, Friedrich."

"Goodbye, Hermann." Hermann felt something tapping his shoulder. "Time for you to go." The scene dissolved, and Hermann found himself back in the cave.

"Wake up," Markos said. "We're heading home."

_Evening_

Hermann didn't hear any of the airport announcements as he went through the metal detector and walked, with his familiar limp, to the waiting airliner. Even when a flight attendant came by after takeoff to ask him if he wanted something to eat or drink, Hermann acted as if he were in a sound vacuum.

"Hermann, don't be rude," Markos said, seeing that his friend had not responded to the woman's question. "Answer her."

"Anything off the menu, sir?" the flight attendant repeated.

"Oh, sorry…no, thank you, not right now."

"And for you?" she asked Markos.

"The champagne looks good; I'll have some of that, please."

"Very good. I'll get it right out to you."

_Bring two glasses_, Markos mouthed silently as he held up his middle and index fingers in a _v_.

"You're awfully high-class this evening," Hermann said as the attended walked away to prepare the drinks. "What's the occasion?"

"We're flying first class all expenses paid," Markos replied. "Who _wouldn't _order vintage champagne on the boss's tab?"

"Just keep telling yourself that when they cut your pay in a month's time."

"Nah, they can afford it; I've seen what the Board of Directors gets to have at their monthly meetings, and it's way more expensive than what I ordered, even at airline prices. If I can't live the high life, I might as well get a taste of it here and there…especially when it doesn't cost me anything!"

"The high life? Screw that; to hell with expensive airplane seats and Chateau Lafite and three-week vacations. I've found all I need to be happy, and it doesn't involve any of those."

"Well, sort of. Without the three-week vacation, neither of us would have had our little adventure. Hell, we might not even be alive."

Markos definitely had a convincing argument, but Hermann was more interested in other things: "If this was a little adventure," he chuckled, "I'd hate to see your idea of a big one."

"You'll be back, Sterlitz," Markos reassured. You know you will, and so does Kopa."

"It still doesn't make leaving any easier. Whoever said 'parting is such sweet sorrow' was full of crap."

"That was Shakespeare."

"Then not only was he impossible to understand, he also had his head up his—

"All right already...sheesh, keep it g-rated;we've got kids on this flight! And you talk about _me _setting a bad example?"

"Point taken. I think your champagne is here, _monsieur_."

"Thanks," Markos said. "Perfect, two glasses…one for me, and one for you."

"I'm not having anything right now."

"Sure you aren't, and I'm the Pope. Raise a glass with me, it won't kill you." Reluctantly, Hermann took one of the champagne flutes. "Here's to the two of us, and our newfound family in Kenya."

"To colleagues and families," Hermann assented, smiling fondly. "Long life to us all."

_Back at Pride Rock_

"Kopa, come inside. It's time for you and Vitani to go to sleep."

"Mom, can't I stay for a few minutes longer? I still haven't seen anything."

"What is it you're looking for?"

"Red and green lights."

"I've never seen anything like that around here before…"

"They're up in the sky; sometimes, at night, you can see them go overhead. I guess airplanes only come out to fly after dark."


	36. Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen

AN: we're finally headed towards the end. Chapter 37, _Postludium_, will be the last installment.

**SECHSUNDDREI****β****IG**

_**Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen**_

**Stuttgart**

By the time Hermann walked into his living room, he was practically asleep on his feet. He had dozed off more than once on the airplane, then again on the train back to Stuttgart, and at least twice in the taxi to his apartment building. His watch read fifteen minutes to nine PM, not late by any means, but the long trip—two car rides, a train, and a transcontinental flight—had more than taken its toll.

Clad in a long trench coat and a wool beret to keep the rain from soaking him to the skin, Hermann drowsily turned the key in his lock and stepped inside, hanging up his coat and hat on a peg and switching on a floor lamp. From outside, the orange-yellow glow of the street lights shone in through the windows, silhouetting the falling rain against a back wall. Hermann's apartment was exactly as he had left it: a desk covered in medical books and papers, a German grocery list on the refrigerator, a well-made bed that looked more inviting by the millisecond. The apartment's owner, on the other hand—the person to whom all the appliances, books, and furniture belonged—was hardly the same man who had stepped out the door three weeks ago en route to Kenya.

Ten minutes to nine. Hermann decided to stay up for at least a few minutes longer, just to keep the time change difficulties to a minimum. He flopped down on his bed and turned on the television, an old tube model that only received the basic channels. Technology, save for the car and the pair of rifles, had been nonexistent in the Pride Lands; Hermann couldn't say that he had missed it very much. He certainly liked computers and cellular phones and all the comforts of modern life, but where he had been staying, none of these had ever been needed, and as such, he had not given their absence a second's consideration. As Hermann caught up on the previous weeks' news, Markos called him from across town: he, too, had made it home in a taxi, and was headed to sleep as soon as he could get his things unpacked. Hermann didn't even have the energy to go that far; both he and Markos would have the day off tomorrow, and more than enough time to sort through their collective wardrobes. He, more so than Markos, would need to do the sorting sooner rather than later: a pair of tickets for the symphony—one for himself, and one for his girlfriend—were sitting neatly on top of a nightstand. Jeans and a t-shirt full of holes, many of them from lion cub claws, would be something less than acceptable attire.

_I'll stay awake until ten_, Hermann thought, _that way I'll wake up at a normal time in the morning._ Satisfied that he had caught up enough with current events for one night, he fumbled around for the television remote and switched the set to another channel.

"_In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equal groups…"_

Sixty or so minutes later, when the last of the credits had finished rolling and Assistant District Attorney Jack McCoy, in his typical fashion, had succeeded in putting another crazed murdered behind bars for life, Hermann drew the shutters and turned out his lights. All he could hear was the metallic plinking of the raindrops against the window and on the roof; before his trip, the sound would have been annoying, perhaps even inhibitive to sleep. Now, three weeks after the fact, it was the closest thing to a lullaby as Hermann could imagine.

The next morning, the beginning of a perfect summer day, Hermann decided to take a short side trip to a store near his apartment building. The shop sold an truly odd collection of items—mostly cigars, along with some music records, walking sticks, gentlemen's hats and pocket handkerchiefs—but Hermann and his family had known the old Russian shopkeeper for years, and the former was in desperate need of a new cane. The room smelled of weathered wood, tobacco and old vinyl, a far cry from the disinfectant aroma that permeated Hermann's workplace, but it was welcoming in its own primitive, antiquated way. Much like the rain the previous night, being in the store reminded Hermann of the cave at Pride Rock.

"Good morning, Hermann," the store owner said as Hermann walked in. "So good to see you again."

"Good morning, Anatoly," Hermann replied. "How is your daughter doing these days?"

"She's very well. She just moved back to St. Petersburg to start her doctorate. What can I do for you?"

"I'm in the market for a new cane," Hermann said. "I lost my old one while I was in Africa."

"Did you now? I'd think that would be the last thing someone like you would lose. How did it happen?"

"Let's just say there's a long story involving the local wildlife."

"Interesting… very interesting. Well, you've come to the right place; I can get you one of almost anything you happen to lose, save of course for your mind." Anatoly laughed and pointed to the back of the shop. "What I have is over there, by the large cigar case. It's not the biggest selection in the country, but you might be able to find something that strikes your fancy."

Five minutes later, Hermann came back with a cane and laid it on the counter. "Really?" the shopkeeper asked. "That one? I thought you'd prefer a more traditional design…something with pewter inlay, perhaps? I have another one back there that's solid mahogany…"

"No, I think I'll take this," Hermann said. "I could stand to break with tradition a bit. What do I owe you?"

"For you, fifteen Euros; for anyone else outside the Sterlitz family, twenty; for your crazy friend from Dresden, twenty-five. Oh, and I almost forgot, I have something for you. I was finally able to track it down." He ducked under the desk for a few seconds, and popped back up with a worn legal envelope in his hand. "Here it is; the record you asked for, complete with the original case."

"Martha Argerich? The Chopin piano sonatas?"

"In mint condition. Not a scratch or a mark on it. The paper covering has seen better days, but the vinyl's as good as the day it was made."

"I can't believe you found this. I'm going to listen to it as soon as I get home! It's such a shame, most people don't even have record players anymore."

"What do you mean? I have four of them."

"Three. One that works."

"Oh, who's counting? Fifteen Euros, please."

"Aren't you forgetting the record? The cane is fifteen, plus whatever the record costs."

"That's on the house; I didn't have to pay anything for it, so there's no sense in me charging you."

"I insist."

"Very well. Fifteen Euros, two cents, please."

Hermann fished the €15.02 out of his wallet and handed it over. "So tell me about your trip," Anatoly said as he counted the cash. "What was it like? What did you see?"

"More than you'd ever believe. Apparently we weren't the first people to visit the area, though; we heard there was a team of researchers there before us."

"You didn't get to meet them?"

"No, they'd already left by the time we were there. We did, however, get to discover their tastes in drink. And they didn't disappoint, that's for sure." Anatoly looked a bit confused. "They left a Lafite Rothschild behind when they packed up camp."

"Oh my…it certainly sounds like they were living comfortably. Who knows, you might be in their shoes one day, bar tab and all," Anatoly mused. "People are always looking for researchers willing to go to those kinds of places. Much too hot for me, of course…where I grew up, if it wasn't ten below freezing at twelve noon in wintertime, everyone considered it a heat wave."

"What? What did you say?"

"I said, in my hometown, it was—

"No, before that, about the research! Exactly what kind of programs are you talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know the specifics—I'm not in the profession, after all—but my daughter's a psychologist, as you know, and she has multiple friends who've spent years at a time in foreign countries for their work. People with your sort of background especially; they're always looking for internists and diagnosticians in places like Africa, Southeast Asia, the Middle East..."

"I gotta go," Hermann said as he darted out the door. "Thanks, Tolya!"

"Hold on, just where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Hospital!" Hermann shouted. "_Taxi!"_

"Hermann Sterlitz, I would _not _be trying to move that fast if I were you! You don't want to hurt yourself!"

"I won't! Trust me, I'm a doctor!"

Hermann clambered into a cab, which quickly peeled away with a loud tire squeal. _Dear me, _Anatoly thought with a half-concerned, half-amused grin. _What on Earth could have gotten into that boy now? _

_One hour later_

A veteran physician at Olga Hospital was sitting in his office, poring over paperwork and wondering what to do with his upcoming day off, when the door suddenly burst open. In rushed Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD, short of breath and sweating as if he had just finished a marathon.

"Sir I have to ask you about—

"Whoa there, kid, stop for a second and inhale! Slow down and take your time…what is you were saying?"

"Research…Kenya…"

"Did you run all the way here? Hermann, isn't it?"

"Can't run…bad leg…just fast walking. Taxi dropped me off a few blocks away."

"That's right, I remember you from your first year with Friedrich."

_Of course you remember me_, Hermann almost blurted out, _you were standing there at the Bundestag ceremony two nights ago_. Fortunately, he quickly remembered that this event had taken place purely as a figment of his own mind.

"Why don't you sit down for a moment and catch your breath."

"Thanks, Doctor Fr—

"Call me Leonard. That's an interesting cane you've got there."

"You like it?"

"Yes, the neon flames are a nice touch. I'm going to get myself a cup of coffee; I don't think I'll make it through the rest of the day without re-caffeinating. Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine as far as coffee is concerned, but by chance have you got any new right legs?"

"Sorry, I ran out of those this morning. We're having all kinds of trouble getting our illegal body part shipments in; you just wouldn't believe how difficult it is to do good business with those cannibals in the Pacific."

"A shame," Hermann laughed.

"So what's eating you?" the doctor asked as he poured a cup and returned to his seat. "What is it that's so urgently on your mind this fine morning? Hopefully not a parasite from somewhere in Kenya."

"No, I would certainly hope not. I was just wondering, what kind of opportunities are there for a guy like me to do some field research in Africa? Maybe something I could publish in a journal of medicine?"

"There's a few fellowships out there, mainly centered around infectious diseases. We send a few of our best every year on rotating shifts, and you've certainly got the credentials for it. You have a second specialization in diagnostics, correct?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, if you asked the right people, I can't see why you wouldn't at least have a shot…but do you really want to go _back_ to Africa? You just spent three weeks there, and besides, you never struck me as the type who would want to live off the land for months on end."

"Yeah, it's funny how those perceptions can be so wrong from time to time. How do I sign up?"

"You're sure? There aren't any concert halls in the savannah, and most days it's a struggle just to get cell phone reception." Hermann knew that these facts would be utterly insignificant, but as he had his superior thinking in his favor, he didn't think it necessary to start an argument over minutia.

"Quite sure. What kind of arrangements are there? Do we get transport? Food and water?"

"You get the basic necessities and a stipend for your time, but the car stays with the person who brings the rations every week. Believe it or not, we've actually had a few people fly in."

"Why wouldn't they have flown in? I'm certainly not going to drive all the way to Kenya, not in my rust bucket car at least. I'd be lucky just to make it out of Germany."

"No, I mean the students were private pilots who literally flew to the campsite. They took the plane from Berlin along with everyone else, and then instead of getting on a bus or in a car, they walked into another plane and flew themselves the rest of the way. The aircraft rental is much cheaper in Kenya than it is here, so the hospital was able to subsidize the expense in part, but that was only for people who had their license before they left. If you're interested in becoming a research fellow, first go talk to Margaret in the finance office; you'll need a copy of your transcript, a well-written application essay…"

"Thanks! Thanks very much!"

Hermann was already running back the way he had come. In short order, he had the application form in one hand and his cell phone in the other. Even without the fellowship, there was one way for him to get back to the Pride Lands on his own time—Leonard had unknowingly mentioned it in passing—but much regarding this possibility now hinged on the result of a phone call. No longer moving at such an urgent clip, Hermann dialed a number and waited for a voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

_Yes, he's home!_ "Hi, Dad, it's me."

"Hermann? Is that you?"

"No, it's Santa Claus."

"Well that settles it, you're definitely Hermann. What can I do for you, son? You have to speak up; I've got a shaky connection right now." Hermann felt a bit sorry for being sarcastic, but he also knew that his father was the last person who would find his sarcasm offensive in the least.

"I was wondering if you still knew that guy down at the airport, the flight instructor…I'm trying to land a spot on a research team abroad, and it's a major plus to have a pilot's license."

"This is certainly news to me. When did you ever decide on a program that requires a Cessna as study material?"

"Thirty seconds ago."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I have to ask; you haven't been—

"Hitting the sauce? No, not a drop."

"I was going to say 'bitten by a malaria-carrying mosquito in Africa', but rest assured, the booze was question next in line."

"Dad, seriously…"

"OK, yes, I still know one of the flight instructors. Is being able to fly really that much of a deal-breaker?"

"It certainly doesn't hurt."

The elder Sterlitz thought for a moment or two. "Why don't you call back later tonight and we'll talk it over amongst the three of us." he finally said. "I want to know everything about this program before you even think about signing up, down to the very last detail. But that being said, if taking this trip is so important to you, and we all decide that everything's kosher, I'll consider contributing towards your flying lessons."

"Really?"

"Really. I can't promise anything of course, but if you call around eight this evening, we can all talk then and figure things out. I know there's someone besides myself who will want to weigh in."

"Mom?"

"Duh."

Hermann knew he wouldn't be able to provide his parents with _every_ detail, namely those regarding whom he was planning on visiting upon rearrival, but he agreed nevertheless. Flight training, even from a family friend, would be expensive, especially at an accelerated rate, and Hermann didn't have enough cash to cover all the costs without using a financing program. For a moment, he thought about abandoning the flying idea entirely, but when he remembered that there would be no car at his (or anyone else's) disposal and that the distance between his research site and Pride Rock could be days if not weeks on foot, he made up his mind for good: without a pilot's license, going back to Africa would be nothing more than a work trip. "I'll call at eight," he said. "I'll be sure to."

"Better make it quarter past eight. Out of curiousity, when was it you were hoping to get your license by?"

"Yesterday."


	37. Postludium

**SIEBENUNDDREIβIG**

_**Postludium**_

**Seven weeks later, somewhere over Africa**

Swaying ever so slightly back and forth with the ebb and flow of the wind, Hermann made his way past a mountain range and over a set of crisscrossing rivers. He had been travelling for a day and a half now, resting at night and going on as soon as the sun broke the horizon, but at long last, his surroundings began to tell him that the destination point was near. He had but one more stop to make: an airstrip in Tanzania with a refueling station. From there, it would be visual flight rules, direct vector to Pride Rock…or where he thought Pride Rock would be. Hermann tried not to think about the unavoidable possibility of getting lost in Kenyan airspace as he gently set his plane down and taxied over to a small hangar.

Hermann climbed out of the cockpit, bracing himself with the same flame-decorated cane from Anatoly's shop in Stuttgart. "I need some fuel for my plane," he said to an attendant—the only person who appeared to be on the premises—only to get a confused stare in return.

"Do you speak English?" Again, nothing, just a look of apologetic confusion. This man obviously wanted to be of assistance, but the language barrier made communication almost impossible. Indeed, gestures might have sufficed as a last-ditch effort, but resorting to exaggerated hand movements seemed a bit disrespectful to Hermann. If there was any way at all to use words in this exchange, he was determined to find it.

"_Sprichst deutsch?" _Hermann asked, trying the only remaining linguistic long shot he could think of.

"_Deutsch?"_

Surprisingly, Hermann seemed to have struck a chord. The man said something in an African language, made a 'wait here' gesture, and disappeared into a nearby hangar. A few moments later, he re-emerged with another man at his side. "_Deutsch," _the first person said, pointing to the other.

"Do you…speak German?" Hermann asked the newcomer slowly.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" The man's speech was immaculate.

"How do you—

"How do I speak your language? Surely you remember which country this land was a colony of before it gained its independence, no?"

"That's right; I completely forgot…Tanzania was a German territory. But you were born before the 1960s, weren't you? At least, you don't _look _like you were…"

"No, you're correct," the man said with a smile. "I was born after our independence. And the Germans actually left in 1919; it was the British who took over until the date you're thinking of. Still, someone in every generation of my family since then, sometimes more than one person in fact, has always learned German; it's just one of those weird traditions there's no use in arguing against. Guess who drew the short straw?"

"I'm so very glad it was you, otherwise, I'd be out of gas. Can you fill the plane up? And I'll need a receipt; a written one will do fine, but without some sort of record, the hospital won't reimburse me. The finance office people get really sore if you try to ask for money without a charge slip."

"A hospital, you say…so you're a doctor, then?"

"Indeed I am. I'm heading to Kenya on research fellowship."

"What happened to your leg? You don't look old enough to need a cane."

"Football injury. That's where _I _drew the short straw, and I've got the scars to prove it."

"Ouch. Let me get that fuel started for you; I don't want to keep you waiting."

The small plane was refueled in short order, and with his tanks full once again, Hermann thanked the two men and got back into the left seat. "By the way," he said to the German-speaking worker, "I know this is an outside chance, but do you happen to know anything about a place called 'Pride Rock'? I'm supposed to head for it, but my chart doesn't have an exact location; all I've got to work with is the cockpit compass and an educated guess."

"Let me see your map."

Hermann handed the paper over through the open door.

"I see…well, you were close, very close in fact—you might even have caught a glimpse out the window as you flew by—but probably not close enough to run straight into it. Pride Rock is thirty kilometers _west _of that bend in the river, not east. Stay too far to the east, and you could be in the next country before you realize you've gone wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive; I've gone by that spot myself. You should know, though, not everyone calls it 'Pride Rock'. There _is _a pride of lions that lives there, but just as many people know those rocks as 'The Giant L'. Not very creative, but it gets the point across…still, whichever name you prefer, it's impossible to miss from close by, especially given the recent improvements there."

"Why? What's been improved?"

"Apparently, Pride Rock has been…annexed," the man laughed. "You'll never believe this until you see it for yourself, but someone actually climbed to the very top and stuck a German flag there. Don't ask me how he managed it without turning into dinner, but there was only a report of a flag, not a flag _and _a pile of bones."

"You'd need to be half out of your mind to do that," Hermann said, knowing that the person behind the 'annexation' fit that description rather well. "Thanks for the advice."

"Don't mention it. Fly safe; you can always come back here if the weather turns on you. The turbulence over that valley can take on a mind of its own sometimes."

"I'll keep that in mind. _Clear props!"_

One propeller starting spinning, followed by the other. A two-minute taxi, a quick check of the control surfaces and a forward shove of the throttle, and Hermann was off the ground once more. This would be the last leg of his trip; he would either find Pride Rock, assuming the other gentleman's directions were accurate, or spend hours circling the same bit of land, watching in vain for a cluster of gray stones that wasn't there. In such a case, he would eventually have to divert back to this same airstrip to re-group and try to get his bearings once more—certainly not an end-of-the-world scenario, considering the airstrip had a pump to replenish the drained fuel tanks—but little about this option was appealing to Hermann. No differently than if he were performing some sort of medical procedure at the hospital, he wanted to get everything right on take one.

The altimeter spun through five thousand feet, and Hermann leveled off. _Next stop, Kopa_, he thought. _I can't wait to see what he does when this big bird shows up on his doorstep. _

**Three hours later**

The landscape spilling out in all directions below was not a new sight to Hermann; he had seen it on the flight into Nairobi, the return trip to Berlin, and his three weeks at Pride Rock. This view, however, was new: never before had he taken in the sights of what he now knew to be the outer edge Pride Lands—which, if he remembered correctly, began after his last river crossing—from the front seat of an airplane, never mind one that he himself was piloting.

As the familiar set of rocks grew close, just as the man at the airstrip had said they would, Hermann eased the throttles back and began to scan the ground for a suitable place to set down. The infamously rocky ride all but promised him before his last take-off was thankfully absent for the time being; Hermann assumed that like many tales he had already heard about exaggeratedly bad weather, this, too was more of a fish story than anything else.

Not until Hermann was practically over the top of Pride Rock, low enough for him to see clearly but high enough to keep the engine noise to a minimum, was he able to pick out a relatively clear tract of open ground on the other side of the rocks. There were a few unfriendly aspects to this site that merited special consideration— stands of trees on the left and water on the right—but most concerning was the actual flight path. By the time he reached this point again on his approach, Hermann reasoned, he would be passing only meters above the long, horizontal section of the L. Too high, and he wouldn't have enough time to lose the extra altitude before arriving at the edge of his landing strip; too low, and the entire affair would disintegrate into a horrific episode of airplane versus solid rock. It was by no means an ideal set of circumstances, but Hermann didn't seem to have much of a choice. He could either land here, and trust that he had been trained well enough to attempt it, or spend hours looking for another suitable spot which, for all he knew, was hours away on foot or didn't even exist in the first place. Throw in what looked like an approaching storm off to the east—maybe the flying conditions weren't so exaggerated after all—and Hermann's mind was all but made up for him.

Hermann pushed the stick left and let more power off, dropping height and speed as he made a large oval and began setting up to bring the Beechcraft in. If his estimations were correct, any lion sitting on the rocks in about three minutes would be able to count the treads on the airplane's tires.

"One thousand," a mechanical-sounding voice said as pilot and airplane slowly came out of the turn. _They might not have noticed me the first time around, _Hermann thought, _but there's no way they'll miss me now. _

At that same moment, Kopa was looking out over the plains, watching the wind blow the tall grass from side to side. He had a few residual scars on one side and on part of his neck from where his injuries had healed over, but other than that, he was no worse off than he had ever been before. Vitani was lying next to him on her back, batting at the occasional grasshopper that flew by. For miles around, all was completely quiet, and then came a sound that no one in the pride had ever heard before. It was a low, distant hum, something of a cross between a herd of animals running by and a thunderclap, only thunder rumbled itself out after a few seconds, and there were no other animals in sight. And the sound was slowly but steadily getting louder.

"You hear that?" Vitani asked. "What's making that noise?"

"I don't know," Kopa replied, eyes half-closed. "Crickets."

"_Crickets? _What kind of crickets have _you _been hanging around?"

"I said I don't know…why are you so worried? It's just a noise."

"_Five hundred."_

"Kopa…you don't think it's a stampede, do you?"

"If it is, we'll still be safe up here. I don't think a bunch of angry wildebeest are going to go out of their way just to run us over, do you?"

"No, you're right. I don't see even see anything."

"Yep. Just the trees and the sky and the clouds, and that bird over there.

"_Three hundred."_

"What bird?"

"That one, on your right. See it?"

"I can see it, but I don't think it's a bird. Since when do birds not flap their wings?"

"Vultures don't flap, they glide. Maybe it's a vulture."

"_Two hundred."_

"Hate to break it to you, but that doesn't look like any vulture I've ever seen, and where I used to live, you got to see plenty of those guys every day. And…oh crap…"

"What?"

"It's freakin' _huge!"_

"The noise…it's getting louder."

"Forget the noise; that _thing _is headed straight for us! Get inside!"

"_One hundred."_

Kopa and Vitani both sprinted away to the safety of the cave, the growl from the twin engines growing stronger all the while. Hermann thundered past only feet above the sloping ledge, glad that he could not see anyone outside at that moment; little did he know that one of the cubs he was most anxious to see again had been watching until only seconds ago. The plane had come in so close, in fact, that the tallest part of Pride Rock, complete with 'improvement', was actually above Hermann's head as he went by. From inside the cave, the two cubs could still hear the rumbling sound; at first it sounded as if it were going further away, then it appeared to be closing in yet again before winding down to a low sputter and then to nothing at all.

"Should I go find mom and dad?" Kopa asked nervously.

"No, you can't go outside!" Vitani said. "Don't you see? Whatever that was, it's seen us here, and now it's sitting outside, waiting. One wrong move and the both of us are toast!" Unbeknownst to Vitani, of course, the mystery creature wasn't even alive. But her curiosity quickly got the better of her, and she cautiously poked hear head out to have a look.

"What is it?" Kopa said. "Can you see anything out there?"

"It's gigantic!" Vitani answered in a frantic whisper. "And it's not moving anymore."

"It's probably asleep."

"See, that's why you'd never survive in the Outlands; it's just trying to_ trick _us into thinking it's asleep! There's no way I'm going to fall for that one, no, sir."

"Well what does it look like? Is it a vulture?"

"Not a vulture! It's got three legs!"

"What else?"

"A huge tail with green stripes, and a set of wings with two great big shiny noses…it's probably smelling us out right now!"

"Oh, man, where's Roberto when you need him?"

"He's right next door, remember? He moved in after we took care of Zira."

"Well why hasn't someone gone and got him?"

"Forget it, Kopa, even Roberto couldn't take this one on. It's bigger than he is.'' Vitani saw someone's shadow—she couldn't tell who it belonged to—run by outside in the direction of the noise. "Hey, you," she called, "stop! Please! Something's out there!" A set of feet skidded to a stop. "Simba? Is that you?"

Vitani had guessed right. "Are you guys OK?" Simba asked as he came inside, panting a bit from his run. "What the heck _was _that?"

"We're OK," Vitani answered, "we got out of the way just in time. Luckily, it hasn't moved since it showed up."

"So you don't know what it is either?" And then, Simba was unexpectedly joined by a rather panicked fourth:

"_¡Señor! ¡Su Majestad! Dormía en las rocas cuando oí este soni—_

"English, Roberto!" Simba begged. "English!"

"Sorry…I said I was asleep, and I hear this incredible noise, it comes from straight overhead. Do you know—

"We were hoping you would know what it was."

"_Ni idea. _No clue."

"Well whatever it is," Kopa said, looking at the spot where the airplane was sitting, "it's right over there."

"My God…" Roberto said when he saw the contraption for himself, "I think that is what the people call '_avión' _in Barcelona; I do not know the word in English."

"Are these things dangerous?"

"Oh, very. They are bird hunters, I hear; any bird in the sky, no matter how big. Perhaps if we are diplomatic, we can convince it to leave…"

"You're right, we have to try and get rid of it. I can't put my pride's safety and well-being at stake." Simba started to walk towards the plane, but halted his stride after a few steps. "Roberto," he said, looking back at the crocodile, "I know it's asking a lot, but would you mind coming with us? If diplomacy fails, we'll need all the help we can get; you'd be doing us a huge favor. Again."

"Save me a piece of the gazelle from this morning, and you have a deal."

"Good; Kopa and Vitani, you two follow us and stay next to me. We can't leave anyone behind on their own."

In a long line, eighteen lions, seven cubs—Kopa, Vitani, Wolfgang, Lied, and three additional arrivals since Hermann's departure—and one croc advanced on the strange newcomer. _I see they've brought out the welcoming committee, _Hermann thought as he peeped backwards over the headrest. _Perhaps I'll have a bit of fun with this_. Crouching as low as he could, under the bottom of the windows, he waited and listened.

Roberto was the first to say anything once the line had formed a semicircle around the new arrival: "_¡En el nombre del Rey de las Tierras Manadeñas, te mando que nos digas quién eres!_"

"Roberto," Kopa whispered, "I don't think it's going to understand—

Just then, part of the tail wagged back and forth as Hermann pushed the rudder pedals with his hand. "It moved!" everyone whispered.

"See, I told you it wasn't asleep," Vitani said proudly. "I bet it's scared senseless now. Watch this!" She took off running straight towards the parked plane, at which point Hermann turned on every flashing light he could find. Vitani's courage quickly devolved into everything but:

"_Aaaugh! Help! It's gonna eat me!" _

The lights went off. "Who are you?" Simba said. "What do you want?" He was still concerned, but he couldn't help but be a little bit amused by Vitani's sudden change of heart. Inside the cockpit, Hermann decided his little prank had run on for long enough. From where they were standing, the group of lions saw a door swing open and a hand with a cane emerge.

"Who am I?" a well-known accented voice asked. "Only one who seeks to prove a point: as I believe it was told to one of you before, 'Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz doesn't break his promises'."

"Hermann?" Kopa gasped. "Is that you?"

"What do you think?" Hermann was still only one-quarter visible as he tried to extricate himself from the cockpit, no small undertaking with his disability.

"If you're Hermann," Kopa said, nearly ecstatic, "where did you grow up, what's my name, and how many sharps are in the key of A minor?"

"Stuttgart, Kopa…and zero," Hermann said as he finally wrestled himself out of the airplane and stood up as straight as he could to face the pride. "Surely you didn't think I'd fall for something that elementary, did you? The last part is a trick question: A minor is relative to C major, and as such, it has no sharps at all." Hermann took a quick look at the group of familiar faces on each side of him, which was a big mistake: with his head turned to the left, he couldn't see Kopa bounding towards him until too late, at which point he was flat on his back with Kopa prancing around on top of him.

"Hermann's back! Hermann's back! Dad, look, it's Hermann!"

"I told you I'd come back, didn't I?" Hermann said, not daring to stand up again lest he get reintroduced to the ground.

"I knew you'd come back again, I knew it!" Kopa looked like he was fit to burst. "You made it, you're finally…is that cane new?"

"Oh, you noticed that, did you? Yes, I bought it when I got back home. Do you like the flames?"

"Yeah, it makes you look like you're going fast! Is he yours too?"

"Is who mine?"

"Him," Kopa said, looking at the plane. "Or is it a 'her'? I can't tell."

"Ah, you mean my ride? It's actually not alive; it's an airplane. We talked about those before I went back to Germany, remember?"

"This is an airplane? I thought you said they were as big as Pride Rock."

"The biggest ones are. This one, however, is just sized for two people."

"But if it's not alive, then why does it have two noses and a set of wings?"

"They're propeller spinners, not noses; perhaps I should just show you how everything works. Go ahead and get in; there's a pair of seats, just like the car I had."

Kopa looked back at his mother, who nodded in the direction of the plane, for approval. "He's not in any danger, is he?" Nala asked Hermann.

"Remember that old Mercedes that Markos and I were in last time?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"You're hundreds of times more likely to get hurt driving in one of those than flying in that airplane. He'll be fine; I'll just take him for a quick ride, and then we can all—

"A ride…you mean you're going to make it fly? I thought he was just going to sit inside while it's on the ground."

"Well we _could _just stand here and look at it all day, but to be honest, I rather had something else in mind. Don't worry, I have my license!"

"I don't know about this…Simba, what do you think?" Nala was expecting nothing less than a grounding order, but that was not at all what she got.

"Be careful up there, Hermann."

"Sometimes you just amaze me, and not in a good way," Nala groaned. Simba could only look at her and laugh.

"Don't worry," Hermann said, "I know what I'm doing. We'll be back in ten minutes, not a second more."He got back in his seat and started turning knobs and switches, with Kopa looking on in excitement.

"See that button right there?" he asked Kopa, pointing at a spot on the panel. "Press it."

"Are you sure? What does it do?"

"You'll see. _Everyone clear the props!"_

From well to the side of the plane, Simba and Nala watched as the propellers started to rotate. Even with all of Hermann's stories and oddities from Germany, they had never seen or even heard of anything quite like the flying machine that had swooped in minutes ago.

"Ready to go for a spin?" Hermann said over the propeller noise.

"Yeah!" Kopa answered. "Is it supposed to be this loud? I can barely hear you!"

"Trust me, this is nothing! OK, give me a countdown from ten…we go on one."

"Ten, nine—

"Um, excuse me, what language is _that?_" Hermann said in German. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're saying." Kopa understood.

"_Zehn! Neun!"_

"Do you think he _really_ knows what he's doing?" Nala said to Simba. "Even if the 'government' has to license him to sit in that thing, there's something about it that leaves me nervous."

"_Acht! Sieben!"_

"From what I've seen of him," Simba replied, "I think Hermann's always trended towards humility. He always talked about how there were better doctors, better singers…"

"_Sechs! Fünf!"_

"So what's your point?"

"_Vier! Drei! Zwei!"_

"The point is, if he actually tells you straight up that he knows his stuff, we can probably assume that's an understatement as well…which means there isn't much reason to doubt him in that regard, is there?"

"_EINS! Go, Hermann! Make it fly!"_

Hermann firewalled the engines and started the plane hurtling down the stretch of grass, while Kopa watched out the window, bug-eyed, as the ground suddenly shrank away.

"Come to think of it," Nala said as she watched the plane lift off, "even if we _did _have reason to doubt his expertise, what kind of chances do you think would we have had of talking him out of it?"

"A million to one."

"Kind of generous, don't you think?"

**Friedrich Johann Ross** was buried with full honors shortly after his death. The hospital rebuilt the damaged part of the building, and a new professorship of internal medicine now exists in his name at Universität Stuttgart. At Hermann's request, a few of his personal effects were placed into the hospital's ownership, and his extensive music collection was donated to the University; his diploma, lab coat, and nameplate still hang proudly on the walls in Hermann's hospital office.

**Markos Wilhelm Schreiber** now resides in Mannheim, not content to leave Southern Germany for at least the time being, working as attending physician in the city's emergency room. He has been banned from the local watering hole after celebrating a bit too much when the Stuttgart Football Club won the Bundesliga Championship; the police report filed after the outside of the bar was covered in toilet paper and chalked on all sides with the winning team's insignia states that "alcohol may have been a factor". Markos remains completely tone-deaf, and has yet to live down his reputation for getting stuck in trees after one too many drinks.

**Wolfgang** finally got a chance to enjoy the childhood he never would have had. **Vitani,** as his older cousin, personally undertook the task of teaching him the best ways to cause mischief without getting caught. She is still best friends with Kopa.

**Roberto** the crocodile was personally offered a large pond directly adjacent to Pride Rock for his services to the pride. He found a companion shortly after moving in, and now has a family of five to look after: Inez, Diego, Esteban, Marisol, and José María. Roberto has promised to not engage in any more ear biting and has proven himself an invaluable asset in hyena control; so far, the only hyena brave (or stupid) enough to get near Pride Rock ended his wayward journey from the Outlands as an aperitif. As a gesture of gratitude, Roberto and his family were all designated independent; they are the only animals in the kingdom to ever enjoy this distinction.

The Outlanders from Zira's pride quickly settled into their new lives. After Hermann returned to Germany for the first time, the newest cubs to be born made sure that the soccer ball he left behind didn't last more than a few days. They have recently taken to pouncing on Kopa's tail for amusement, often finding themselves on the receiving end of some harsh-sounding foreign words as a result. Much to Kopa's dismay, the cubs, in typical youngster fashion, appear to have no plans to stop torturing him, no matter how scary he makes himself sound in response to their antics.

**Kopa **never spent one day without thinking of his human friends in Germany, whether he was standing at his side, cane and all, or thousands of miles away in another country. He takes care of Hermann's old songbook as if the well-being of the world depended on it.

Although the adults have occasionally spoken about him and Vitani becoming a pair in the far-off future, he believes the entire concept to be rather odd; when questioned once about his feelings regarding the subject, he only responded with a few choice words in German, intentionally switching languages so that everybody else would have to figure it out on their own. Kopa spends his free time playing with Vitani and relaxing with his parents when not looking after Wolfgang, and always remembers who he has to thank for the ability to do so. Much to his dismay, Simba and Nala continually describe him as having 'a heart of gold', which provides Vitani with an almost-endless source of amusement.

**Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz**_**, **_once back in Stuttgart, found that he treated patients much differently than he had before, especially the younger visitors to the hospital. The fact that he was now in a higher position at work had nothing to do with this transformation; the time spent looking after Kopa bore one hundred percent of this responsibility. From time to time, passersby would mention that they thought they heard the faint sound of a guitar or singing coming from one of the rooms; Hermann always played the fool when questioned, saying he had no idea what any of these people were talking about—perhaps the fumes from the hospital disinfectant were getting to their heads—but the shiny new six-string in the trunk of his car begged to differ. Perhaps to Hermann's advantage, such inquiries into the mystery music were few and far between, due to the fact that most of the time, nobody except an occasional security guard or custodian was around to hear anything in the first place: the majority of these impromptu performances took place late at night in the children's ward, where long after clocking out for the day, a white-coated man would walk from bedside to bedside with an acoustic guitar hung over his shoulder and a cane in his right hand, strumming out melodies for those who couldn't get to sleep on their own.

And so Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz returned to Kenya, to Kopa's family, to the one place he considered as much of a home as Germany. He brought cameras, books with pictures from all over Europe and North America, a new song book, a music player with speakers…anything and everything he could think of that might pique Kopa's interest. He could never stay as long as he wanted to, but every time he returned home, he came back a few months later, just as he always promised. Finding Pride Rock was always as task for him in and of itself, as the exact location has never been plotted on any map, and some wonder if the prolific structure is even in Kenya at all. But regardless of its exact location, one fact remains for certain, confirmed time and again by those who have passed by the spot. To this day, from the highest point on the highest rock, the national flag of Germany still flies proudly over the surrounding plains. Lest any one of them forget the heroic actions of a certain pair of men, neither Simba, nor Nala, nor Kopa nor Vitani have any intention of ever taking it down.

_Schmeichelnd hold und lieblich klingen_

Graceful, charming and sweet is the sound

_Unseres Lebens Harmonien,_

Of our life's harmonies,

_Und dem Schönheitssinn entschwingen_

And from a sense of beauty arise

_Blumen sich, die ewig blühn._

Flowers which eternally bloom.

_Fried und Freude gleiten freundlich_

Peace and joy advance in perfect concord,

_Wie der Wellen Wechselspiel._

Like the changing play of the waves.

_Was sich drängte rauh und feindlich,_

All that was harsh and hostile,

_Ordnet sich zu Hochgefühl._

Has turned into sublime delight.

_Wenn der Töne Zauber walten_

When music's enchantment reigns,

_Und des Wortes Weihe spricht,_

Speaking of the sacred word,

_Muss sich Herrliches gestalten,_

Magnificence takes form,

_Nacht und Stürme werden Licht._

The night and the tempest turns to light:

_Äuss're Ruhe, inn're Wonne_

In outward peace and inward bliss

_Herrschen für den Glücklichen._

Reign the fortunate ones.

_Doch der Künste Frühlingssonne_

All art in the spring's sun

_Lässt aus beiden Licht entstehn._

Lets light flow from both

Christoph Kuffner

Vienna, 1808

**_ENDE_**


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